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GUSTAVE AIMARD 

Author op "PEARL OF THF. ANDES," 
“THE ADVENTURERS," Etc. 


=S=NEW-YORK ===== 

* JOHN-W- L OVELL 


COnPANY+ 

R l6 VE S EY STREET 


lO OG-rLtiSm 


Vol. 11, No. 5ti*. Ajiril 18, 18»5. Aiiiiiml Subsi riptiun, f'iO.OO, 


THE 

TRAIL-HUNTER 








MATCHLESS 


SQUARE 


UNION 


33 


BROTHERS 


A tri-weekly PUBllCATIOf/ OF THE BEST CURRENfT R STAMDMD LITERmURF. 


Iknow SH Women BT these PEESENTS, that 

while sundry and almost countless imitations of and substitutes for 
Enoch Morgan’s Sons Sapolio are offered by unscrupulous parties, who 
do not hesitate to represent them as the original article, 

linbenture WITNESSETH, That there is but one 
Sapolio, to wit the original article manufactured by the Enoch 
Morgan’s Sons Co., of New York, unsurpasssed in quality, unexcelled 
in popularity, and widely known 
not only through its own merits, 
but through the many original 
modes which have been adopted 
to introduce it to the attention of 
the public. Imitation is the sin- 
cerest flattery. Cheapness is a 
poor proof of quality. Cheap im- 
itations are doubly doubtful. The 
most critical communities are the 
most liberal purchasers of Sapolio 
which they invariably find to be 
worth the price they pay for it. 

In Witness Whereof, we hereby 
affix a great seal and our cor- 
porate title. 

ENOCH MORGAN’S SONS 



ESTABLISHED HALF A CENTURY. 



HOT found r 

THAT Will well repay A^^ ^ 

INVESTIGATION 
THE BEST SAFE 

MARV/NSAFECO. 

NEW YORK, PHILADELPHIA, 

LONDON. ENGLAND. 




If you appreciate a Corset that will neither break down nor roll 
Cn wear^ 

TRY BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you value health and comfort, 

WEAR BALL’S CORSETS. 

If yoti desire a Corset that fits the first day you wear it, and natjSj': 
ao “breaking in,” 

BUY BALL’S CORSETS. < 

If you desire a Corset that yields with every motion of the body, 
EXAIttl.NE BALL’S CORSETS. 

If you want a perfect fit and support without compression, 

USE BALL’S CORSETS. 

Owing to their peculiar construction it is impossible to break .. ' 

Ball’s Corsets. 

The Elastic Sections in Ball’s Corsets contain no rubber, and are 
.■anted to out-wear tne Corset. 

Srery pair eold with the following guarantee : 

“if not perfectly satisfactory In every respect after thre©^ 
weeks^ trial, the money paid for them v/ill bo refunded (by the 
dealer), Soiled or Vnsoiled.** 

The wonderful popularity of Ball’s Corsets has Induced rival mannfactufcrsj 
to imitate them. If you v/ant a Corset that will 0ve perfect satisfaction 
Insist on purchasing one marked, Pateoted Feb. 22, 1S81. 

And see that the name BALL is on the Box. 

For Sale by all Leadia&r l>ry Crood» Dealer*. 



^ 

HENRY GEORGE’S LATEST WORK. 


Protection or Free Trafle ? 

AN EXAMINATION OF THE TARIFF QUESTION WITH ESPECIAL REGARD 
TO THE INTERESTS OF UBOR. 


By HENRY GEORGE, 

Author of “ Progress and Poverty,” “Social Problems,’ 
“ The Land Question,” etc. 

ISmo, ClotK. I^rice, ^1.^0. 


co3sra?E2srTS- 


I. Introductory, 
n. Clearing ground, 
in. Of method. 

IV. Protection as a universal need. 

V. The protective unit. 

VI. Trade. 

Vn. Production and producers. 
Vm. Tariffs for revenue. 

IX. Tariffs for protection. 

X. The encouragement of indus- 

try. 

XI. The home market and home 

trade. 

xn. Exports and imports. 

Xm. Confusions arising from the 
use of money. 

XIV. Do high wages necessitate pro- 
tection ? 

XV. Of advantages and disadvan- 
tages as reasons for pro- 
tection. 


XVI. The development of mami * 
factures. 

XVn. Protection and producers. 
XVHL Effect of protection on Am- 
erican industry. 

XIX. Protection and wages. 

XX. The abolition of protection. 

XXI. Inadequacy of the free trade 

argument. 

XXII. The real ^veakness of free 
trade. 

XXm. The real strength of pro- 
tection. 

XXIV. The paradox. 

XXV. The robber that takes an 

that is left. 

XXVI. True free trade. 

XXVIL The lion in the path. 

XXV 111. Free trade and socialism. 
XXIX. Practical politics. 

XXX. Conclusion. 


Tbr sale by all booksellers, or sent prepaid by mail on receipt 
of price. 


HENRY GEORGE & CO., 


16 Astor Place, New York. 


The Century Magazine. 

T he century is an illustrated monthly magazine, issued on th« 
first day of each month, and containing one hundred and sixty 
pages (or more), with from forty to eighty illustrations. It has a regular 
circulation of about two hundred thousand copies, often reaching and 
sometimes exceeding two hundred and twenty-five thousand. Of these a 
large edition is sold in England, where The Century has been the 
leading periodical of its class for upwards of ten years. The magazine 
vas founded in 1870. In 1881 it took the name “ The Century,” and the 
name of the corporation which published it became “ The Century Co.” 
It has been called by the N. Y. Nation “the best edited magazine 
in the world.” 

In it are published novels and stories by our leading writers, including 
Frank R. Stockton, George \V. Cable, Dr. Edward Eggleston, Julian 
Hawthorne, Mary Hallock Foote, and others. It contains illustrated 
articles in travel, science, art, history, and other 
fields of literature ; essays on the prominent ques- 
tions of the day; poems ; sketches, etc. It is “ the 
most American of our magazines.” A remark- 
able serial is now appearing in The Century. 
It is a history of our own country in its most 
critical period, as told in 

THE LIFE OF LINCOLN, 

BY HIS CONFIDENTIAL SECRETARIES, JOHN G. NICOLAY 
AND COL. JOHN HAY. 

This great work, begun with the sanction of Presi- 
dent Lincoln and continued under the authority of 
his son, the Hon. Robert T. Lincoln, is the only 
full and authoritative record of Lincoln’s eventful 
life. Its authors have had every facility for writing a complete and 
accurate biography, and they have ardently fulfilled their duty, and have 
produced “the most important of American historical biographies.” 

Sub scri lotion, $4,00 per year ; 35 cents per number, 

SOLD BY ALL DEALERS. '' 

THE CENTURY CO ; NEW YORK. 


St. Nichola^^ for Yoting Folks. 

Edited by MARY MAPES DODGE. 

St. Nicholas is a monthly illustrated magazine for girls and boys of 
all ages. The little children are remembered every month, and those 
who are blossoming into manhood and womanhood are not too old to 
find amusement and instruction in its pages. The Christian Union' 
said long ago tha'i it was “ for children from five to eighty-five.” {j 

It has a large circulation in England as well as in America. Theli 
London Times has said, “We have nothing like it on this side.” It is’ 
clean and true and helpful, — it has been called “a liberal education in 
itself.” Every one who has seen St. Nicholas likes it. 
Svbs>^?rr*^ion, $3,00 per year ; 25 cents per number, 

HE CENTURY CO., New York. 





V 


I 



; A Sq4- 1-i 
« , 


GUSTAVE AIMARD’S WORKS 

CONTAINED IN LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 

VO. 

560 The Adventurers, ....... 

567 The Trail-Hunter, 

573 Pearl of the Andes, ...... 




N 


THOWi 

rtHnriM and bookbindinq QoumMf 

NEW YORK, . 


fXICE« 

IOC. 

IOC. 

IOC, 


PREFACE. 


The present volume of Aimard’s Indian Tales is devoted to the succeeding 
adventures of those hunters, whose acquaintance the reader has formed, with 
pleasure, in the preceding volumes. It does not become the Editor to say 
anything further in its favour than that the sustained interest of the narrative, 
which has been regarded as the charm of stories referring to )ife in the desert 
and the prairie, has not been departed from in this instance. The stories 
themselves supply an innate proof of the writer’s correctness to nature, and, 
in truth, many of the scenes are so startling that they must be the result of 
personal observation. 

_ The issue of the “Trail-Hunter” affords a suitable opportunity for 
thanking the Press generally for the kindly aid they have rendered in making 
the character of Aimard’s Indian Tales known to the British ' eading public 
and for the hearty way in which they have recognised the merits of the 
preceding series. It would be an easy task to collect paragraphs expressing 
a belief that Aimard is second to none of the writers who have hitherto 
described Indian life and scenery ; but it is preferable to rest out hopes o£ 
continued success upon the inherent qualities of our Author’s stories* 


content’s. 


ciurrBX 













FAGB 

I. THR JAGUARS . 


• 


• 


• 


• 





5 

11 . DON MIGUEL ZARATE 

• 




• 


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8 

III. THE WOUND 


• 




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13 

IV. THE SQUATTERS SHANTY 




• 


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*5 

V. TUB RANliERS 


• 


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i8 

VI. thr valley of the 

BUFFALO 



• 


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21 

VII. THE ASSASSINATION 


• 


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24 

Vlll. THE SACHEM OF THE 

CORAS 



• 


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27 -\ 

IX. CONVEIISATION , 


• 


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30 

X. THE WINE SHOP. 

• 




• 


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# 


33 

XI. THE TWO HUNTERS 


• 


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« 


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39 

XII. TWO VARIETIES OF VILLAINS 



• 


• 


• 


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41 

XIII. UNICORN . 


• 


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47 

XIV. THE HUNT OF THE WILD 

HORSES 


• 


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SO 

XV. THE ABDUCTION 


• 


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• 


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58 

XVI. THE REVOLT 

• 




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61 

XVII. EL RANCHO DE COYOTE 

• 


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64 

XVIII. THE CUCHILLADA 

• 




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0 

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66 

XIX. THE HUNTERS 


• 


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69 

XX. SUNBEAM 

• 




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72 

XXT. THE MISSIONARY • 


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75 

XXII. THE INTERVIEW . 

• 




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78 

XXIII. THE PRISON , 


• 


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80 

XXIV. THE EMBASSY . 

• 




« 


• 


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83 

XXV. THE PRESENTATION 


• 


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85 

XXVI. PSYCHOLOGICAL 

• 




• 


• 




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87 

XXVn. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 

• 


• 


• 


• 


• 



8) 

XXVIII. A STORMY DISCUSSION 




• 


• 


• 


• 


93 

XXIX. THE MYSTERY 


• 


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• 


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95 

XXX. THE AMBUSCADE 

• 




• 




• 


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98 

XXXI. A FRIENDLY DISCUSSION 

• 


« 


• 




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100 

XXXI!. NATHAN 

• 




• 


• 


• 


• 


102 

XXXIII. THE WOUNDED MAN 


• 


• 


• 


• 


• 



*05 

XXXIV. INDIAN DIPLOMACY 

• 






• 


• 


• 


107 

XXXV. THE STRANGER 


• 


• 


• 


• 


• 



1 10 

XXXVI. GENERAL VENTURA 

• 




• 


• 


• 


% 


* 13 

XXXVII. THE COMANCHES 


• 


• 


• 


♦ 


• 



* *5 

XXXVIH. NEGOTIATIONS . 

m 




• 


• 


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I 17 

XXXIX. FREE 


• 


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♦ 



II9 

XL, THE MEETING . 

• 




• 


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12! 

XLl. DONA CLARA 


• 


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• 


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124 

XLII. EL V.ADO DEL TORO 

• 




• 


• 


• 


• 


126 


THE TRAIL-HUNTER. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE JAGUARS. 

On a lovely morning; in the month of May, which the Indians call “the moon 
of the flowers,” a man of high stature, with harsh and marked features, mounted 
on a tall, half-tamed steed, started at a canter from the plaza, or village, of the 
Paso, and after a few minutes of hesitation, employed in realising his position, 
resolutely buried his spurs in the horse’s flanks, crossed the ford, and after 
leaving behind him the numerous cotton-wood trees which at this spot cover 
the river banks, proceeded toward the dense forest that flashed on the horizon. 

This horseman wore a pelisse of green cloth, embroidered with silver, 
allowing a glimpse of an elegantly-worked shirt, the collar of which was fastened 
by a loosely-knotted black silk handkerchief, the ends passed through a diamond 
ring. He wore green cloth breeches, trimmed with silver, and two rows of 
buttons of the same metal, and fastened round the hips by a red silken scarf 
with gold fringe. The breeches, open on the side half way up the thigh, dis- 
played his fine linen drawers beneath ; his legs were defended by a strip of brown 
embossed and stamped leather, called bntas vaqueras, attached below the knee 
by a silver garter. On his heels enormous spurs clanked. A manga, glistening 
with gold, and drawn u ■> on the shoulder, protected the upper part of his body, 
while his head was sheltered from the burning sunbeams by a broad-leafed hat 
of brown stamped felt, the crown of vdiich was contracted by a large silver 
toquilla passed twice or thrice round it. 

His steed was caparisoned with graceful luxuriousness, which heightened all itp 
beautiful points: a lich saddle of embossed leatner, adorned with massive silver, on 
the back of which the zarape was fastened ; wide Moorish silver stiriips, and hand- 
some water Cottles at the saddie-bow ; while an elegant anqiiera, made of openwork 
leather, and decorated with small steel chains, entirely covered the horse’s croop, and 
sparkled with its slightest movement. 

The stranger appeared, judging from the luxury he displayed, to belong to the 
high class of society. A machete hung down his right side, two pistols were passed 
thiough his girdle, the handle of a long knife proiiuded from his tight boot, and he 
held a superbly damascened rifle acioss the sadole in front of him. 

Bending over the neck of his steed, the stranger galloped on, with his eye 
ardently fixed before him, and not appearing to see anything. Several hours passed 
thus: the horseman buried himself deeper in the forest. He merely reined up his 
horse now and then, took a glance at tne sky, and then started agaui, muttering to 
himself but one word — 

“ AdeLantel" (Foiward I) 


6 


The TraU- Hunter, 


At length he stopped in a vast clearing, took a suspicious glance around him, 
and probably reassuied by the leaden silence which weighed on the desert, he dis- 
mounted, hobbled his hotse, and took off its bridle that it might browse on the young 
tree-shoots. This duty accomplished, he carelessly lay down on the ground, rolled 
a maize cigarette in his fingers, produced a gold mechero from his waist-belt, and 
struck a light, muttering, as he did so — 

“ Hum ! he keeps me waiting a long time.” 

Several hours passed, when suddenly a rather loud rustling was heard in the 
thicket, some distance behind the stranger. 

“ Cjtnc on, hang it 1 ” the horseman shouted as he rose. “ By our La ly of 
Pilar ! you have surely been keeping me waiting long enough.” 

Nothing appeared, and the stranger, sui prised at the obstinate silence of the man 
he was addressing, at length rose to see tor himself the reason. At this moment 
his horse pricked up its ears, snorted violently, and made prodigious bounds in 
order to escape from the lasso that held it. The stranger, more and more surprised, 
looked round for an explanathm of these extraordinary movements. 

Scarce twenty yards from him a magnificent jaguar was crouched on the main 
branch of an enormous cypress, and fixed on him two ferocious eyes, as it passed 
its blood-red, rugged tongue over its lips with a feline pleasure. 

“Ah, ah ! ” the stranger said to himself, “ 1 did not expect you ; but no matter, 
you are welcome, comrade. Carat ! we shall have a fight for it.” 

Without taking his eye off the jaguar, he convinced himself that his machete was 
loose in its scabbard, picked uj his rifle, and then advanced resolutely toward the 
ferocious brute. The jaguar drew itself together and prepared to leap forward. At 
the same moment a hoarse yell was heard from the opposite side of the clearing, 

“Wait a minute,” the stranger said to himself with a smile; “it seems there are 
two of them, and I (.xncied 1 had to do with a bachelor jaguar. This is beginning 
to grow interesting.” 

Glancing on one side, he found he bad not deceived hi.nself : a second jaguar, 
rather larger than the first, had fixed its flashing eyes upon him. 

The stranger was but slightly affected by the unexpected presence of the jaguars. 
Although his position between his ferocious enemies was somewhat precarious, he 
did not the less resolve t ) confront them bravely. Not taking his eye off the jaguar 
ne had first seen, he went back a few steps obliquely, so as to have his foes nearly 
opposite him, instead of standing between them. The jaguars watched him, licking 
clr.eir lips, and passing their paws behind their ears with those graceful movements 
peculiar to the feline race. 

While keeping his eye on the watch, the Mexican did not yield to any weak 
feeling of security : he knew that the struggle he was about to undertake was a 
supreme one, and he took his precautions. Jaguars never attack a man unless 
forced by necrssity ; and the latter tried, before all, to seize the horse. The noble 
animal, securely fastened by its master, exhausted itself in efforts to break the 
bonds that held it, and escape. It trembled with torror on scenting its ferocious 
enemies. 

'Phe stranger, when his precautions were completely taken, again shouldered his 
rifle, and at this moment the jaguars raised their heads, laying back their cars and 
sniffing. An almost imperceptible sound was audible in the bushes. 

“ Who goes there ” the Mexican asked in a loud voice. 

“A fiiend, Don Miguel Zarate,” was the reply. 

“ Ah ! it is Don Valentine,” the Mexican continued. “ You have arrived just b 
time to see some fine sport.” 

The bratiches were sharply drawn aside, and two men appeared in the clearing. 

At the sight of thp jaguars they stopped, not through alarm, for they quiet! v 


The Jaguars. 


7 


placed the butts of their rifles on the ground, but in order to give the hunter every 
facility to eaxrge victorious from 1 is rash comb t. 

The jaguars seemed to comprehend that the moment for action had arrived. As 
if by one accord, they drew themselves up and bounded on their enemy. The first, 
struck in its leap by a bulLt which passed through its right eye, rolled on the 
ground, where it remained motionless. The second was received on the point of the 
hunter’s machete, who, after discharging his rifle, had fallen on his knee, with his 
ftft arm folded in his blanket in ftont, and the machete in the other hand. The 
<ian and the tiger writhed together in a deadly embrace, and after a ftw seconds 
f>nly one of the adversaries rose : it was the man. The tiger was deal ; the hunter’s 
machete, guided by a firm hand had passed right through its heart. 

The Mexican then rose, thrust his machete thrice into the grass to clean the 
blade, and turning coldly to the strangers, said, — 

“ What do you say to that ? ” 

“ Splendidly played,” the first answered ; ” it is one of the best double strokes I 
ever saw in my life.” 

The two men threw their rifles on their shoulders, and walked up to the Mexican, 
who was reloading his piece with the utmost coolness. 

The sun was sinking on the horizon, the shadow of the trees assumed a prodigious 
length, and the luminary appeared like a ball of fire amid the limpid azure of the 
heavens. The night would soon arrive, and the desert was awaking. 

The three men collected dry branches, made a pile o^ them, and set fire to it. So 
soon as the flames rose joyously skyward in long spirals, the two strangers produced 
from their game bags maize tortillas, jerked meat, and a gourd of pulque. These 
various comestibles were spread out on the grass, and the three men began a hunter’s 
meal. When the gourd had gone the round several times, and the tortillas had dis- 
appeared, the new comers lit their Indian pipes, and the Mexican rolled a papelito. 

Although this meal had been short, it lasted however long enough for night to 
have completely set in. The rudy reflections of the fire played on the energetic faces 
of the three men, and gave them a fantastic appearance. 

” And now,” the Mexican said, after lighting his cigarette, ” I will, with your per- 
mission, explain to you why I was so anxious to see you.” 

** One moment,” one of the hunters answered. ” You know that in the desert 
the leaves have often eyes, and the trees ears. If I am not mis'aken in your hints, 
you invited us here that our interview might be secret.” 

“ In truth, I have the greatest interest in nothing of what is said here being over* 
heard, or even suspected.” 

” Very good. Curumilla, to your work.” 

The second hunter rose, seized his rifle, and disappeared noiselessly in the gloom. 

In about half an hour the hunter returned, however, and seated himself by his 
comrades’ side. 

” Well ? ” the one who had sent him off asked him. 

" My brothers can speak,” he replied laconically; “the desert is quiet.” 

Oa this assurance the three men banished all anxiety. Stid piudence did not 
abaiMon them ; they took up their pipes, and turned their backs to the fire, so that 
they might watch the neighbourhood while conversing.” 

“ We are ready to listen to you,” the first hunter said. 

“ Listen to me with the greatest attention,” the Mexican began ; “ what you are 
about to hear is of the utmost importance.” 

Before gr ing further we must introduce to the reader the two men we have just 
brought on the stage, and go back a few paces. 

The two hunters seemed at the first glance to be Indians; but, on examining 
ibcm more attentively, you could recognise that one of them belonged to those white 


s 


The Trail Hunter. 


trappers whose boldness has become proverbial in Mexico. Their appearance and 
equipment offered a singular medley of savage and civilized life. Their hair was of 
a remarkable length ; for in those countries, where a man is frequently only fought for 
the glory of lifting his scalp, it is considered the thing to wear it long and easy to 
seize. 

The hunters had their hair neatly plaited, and intertwined with beaver skins and 
bright-colouied ribbons. The rest of their garb harmonized with this specimen of 
their taste. A hunting shirt of bright red calico fell down to theii knees ; gaiters 
decorated with woollen ribbons and bells surrounded their legs ; and their feet were 
shod with mocassins embroidered with beads, which the squaws know so well how 
to make. A striped blanket, fastened round the hips by a belt of tanned deer-hide, 
completed their clothing, but was not so closely <lrawn that at their every movement 
the butt of the pistols and the hilt of the machetes might be seen glistening. As 
for their rifles, useless at this moment, and carelessly thrown on the ground by their 
side, if they had been stripped of the plume-worked elk-skin that coveted them, 
it would have been possible to see with what care their owners had decorated them 
with copper nails, painted of various colouis; for all about these two men bore the 
imprint of Indian habits. 

The first of the two hunters was a man of thirty-eight at the most, tall and well 
built: his muscular limbs denoted great bodily strength, allied to unequalled light- 
ness. Although he affected all the manneis of the red-skins, it was an easy matter 
to perceive that he not only belonged to the unmixed white race, bat also to the 
Norman or Gaulish type. He was fair; his large blue, and pensive eyes, adorned 
with long lashes, had an expression of undefinable sadness ; his nose was slightly 
aquiline ; his mouth large, and filled with teeth of dazzling whiteness ; a thick chest- 
nut beard cr>vered the lower pait of his face, which revealed gentleness, kindness, 
and courage without boasting, though the whole were combined with a will of 
iron. 

His companion evidently belonged to the Indian race, all the characteristic signs 
of which he displayed ; but, strange to say, he was not coppery like the American 
aborigines of Texas and North America; his skin was brown, and slightly of 
an olive hue. He had a lofty brow, a bent nose, small but piercing eyes, a large 
mouth, and square chin ; in short, he presented the complete type- of the Araucano 
race, which inhabits a limited teriitory in the south of Chili. This hunter had round 
his brow a purple colouied fillet, in which was thurst over the right ear a plume of 
the Andes eagle, a sign which serves to distinguish the chiefs of the Aucas. 

These two men. whom the reader has doubtless already recognised, as they played 
an important part in our previously pub ished works, were Valentine Guillois, cr- 
noncommissi ned officer in the Spahis. and Cururailla, his friend, — Uimen of the 
Great Hare tribe. 


CIIArTER 11. 

DON MIGUEL ZARATE, 

Were Mexico better governed, it would be one of the richest countries on the 
face of the globe. Indeed, the largest private fortunes must still be sought la 
that country. Since the United States Amerii ans have revealed to the world, by 
seizing one half otMexco, whit: er tneir am hi ion tends, ti.c inhabitants of that fine 
country have slightly emerged fiom the torpor they enjoyed, and have made great 
efforts to colonise their provinces, and summon to their soil, which is so rich and 
fertile, intelligent and industiious labourers, who might change the face of affairs 


Don ]\rignd Zarate, 


9 


and cause abundance and wealth to abound at spots where, prior to their arrival, 
there was nought save ruin, desolation, carvlessness, and misery. 

Among the New Mexican land-owners woo resolved to make great sacrifices in 
order to stop, or at least check, the imminent invasion from Noitli America, the 
richest, and possibly, first of all, through his intelligence and the influence he justly 
cnjnved in the country, was Don Miguel Acamarichtzin Zarate. 

Whatever may be asserted, the Indian population of Mexico is nearly five to one 
white men, and possesses an enormous influence. Don Miguel descended in a 
strait line from Acamarichtzin, first king of Mexico, whose name had been pre- 
served in the family as a precious relic. Possessed of an incalculable fortune, Don 
Miguel lived on his enormous estates dke a king in his empire, beloved and re- 
spected by the Indians, whom he effectively protected whenever the occ si 'n pre- 
sented itself, and who felt for him a veneration carded almost to idolatry; for they 
saw in him the descendant from one of their most celebrated kings, and the born 
defender of their race. 

The family of Don Miguel Zarate had retired to New Mexico, which country it 
did not leave again, a few years after the conquests of the adventurer Cortez. Don 
Miguel had closely followed the policy of his family by maintaining the bonds of 
friendship and good neigh, oui hood which, f om time immemorial, attached it to 
the Indians* This policy had borne its fruit. Annually, in September, when the 
terrible red warriors, preceded by murder and arson, rushed like a torrent on the 
wretched inhabitants, whom they massacred in the farms they plundered, without 
pity forage or sex, only Don Miguel Zarate's estates were respected. 

This conduct of the Indians had not failed to arouse extreme jealousy on the part 
of the inhabitants, who saw themselves periodically ruined by the tndios Bravos. 
Earnest complaints had been laid against Don Miguel before the Mexican Govern- 
ment ; but whatever might be the power of bis enemies, and the means they employed 
to ruin him, the rich haciendero had never been seriously disturbed. 

Don Miguel was left a widower after eight years’ marriage, with two children, a 
boy and a girl, the son being twenty-four, the daughter se\enteen, at the period 
when this story opens. Dona Clara — such was the daughter’s name — was one of 
the most delicious maidens that can be imagined. She had one of those Murillo’s 
virgin heads, whose black eyes, fringed with long silky lashes, pure mouth, and 
dreamy brow seem to promise divine joys. Her complexion, slightly bronzcvi'by 
the warm sunbeams, wore that gilded reflection which so well beconies the women 
of these intcrtropical countries. She was short of statuie, but exqu sitely modelled. 
Gentle and simple, ignorant as a Creole, this del cious child was adored by her 
father, who saw in her the wife he had so loved living once more. 'Die Indians 
looked after her when she at times passed pensively, plucking a flower before their 
wretched huts, and scarce bending the plants on which she placed her delicate foot. 
In their hearts they compared this frail maiden, with her soft and vaporous outline, 
to the “ virgin of the first loves.” that sublime creation of the Indian religion which 
holds so great a place in the Aztec mvthology. 

Don Pablo Zarate, the haciendero’s son, was a powerfully built man, with 
harshly-marked features, and a haughty glance, although at times it was imprinted 
with gentleness and kindness. Endowed with more than ordinary strength, skilled 
in all bodily exercises, Don Pablo was renowned through the whole country for his 
talent in taming horses, and the correctness of his aim when on the chase. A detir- 
rnined hunter and daring wood-ranger, this young man, when he had a good horse 
between his legs, and his rifle in his hand, knew no man or animal, capable of bar- 
ring his passage. Ttie Indians, in their simple faith, yielded to the son the same 
respect and veneration thev entertained for the father, and fancied they saw in him 
the personification of Iluiiiilo^ochUi, that tcnible war god of the Aztecs, to whom 


10 


The 'Trait-Hunter, 


62,000 human victims were sacrificed in one day, upon the inaus^uration of his 
teocali. 

Don Miguel possessed, in the vicinity f'f the Paso, vast estates extf-nding for a great 
distance, and consisting piincipallv of n iciendas. praines and forests. One day Don 
Miguel was returning from a visit to his fiaciendas. It was late, and he pressed on 
his horse in order to reach the foitl ere night, when, at ab ut tl.r. e o*‘ four leagues 
at the most from the snot to which he was proceeding, and just as he was entering 
a dense forest of cctlon-wood trees, through which he must pass ere reaching the 
ford, his attention was attracted by cries mingled with growls emerging from the 
wood he was about to enter. The haciendero stopped in order to account for the 
unusual sounds he heard, and bent his I ead forward to detect what was happening. 
In the mean while the noise grew louder, and the shouts were redoubled, and 
mingled with oaths and passionate exclamations. 

The Mexican’s horse laid back its ears, neighed, and refused *•> advance. Think- 
ing that a man was probably attacked by wild beasts, he compelled nis steed to go 
forward and enter the wood. He had scarce gone a few yards ere he stopped in 
amazement at the strange spectacle that presented itself to lum. 

In the middle of a clearing lay a ripped-up horse, which six or eight pcccaris were 
rending, wmlc a dozen others were attackmg with their tusks the stem of an enor- 
mous tree, in the topmost branches ot whidi a man had sought shelter. 

The pcccaris hold the intermediate grade between the domestic pig and the wild 
boar. Although this animal does n t exceed two feet in height, and is not more than 
three feet long from the end of the snout to the beginning of the tail, it is one of the 
most dangerous animals in North America. The animal's jaw is provided with 
tusks rathe*- like those of the boar, but straight and sharp, their length varying 
between four .and six inches. 

The movements of the pcccaris are as quick and sharp as those of the squirrel. 
They ordinarily live in herds of fifteen, thirty, and even fifty. A remarkable pecu- 
liarity of this genus is the clumsy wart they have on their backs, whence a musky 
fluid evr.pora'.es when the animal is in a fury. 

The peccari lives in preference on acorns, roots, wheat, sugar cane, and reptiles of 
every description. 

The mode in which the percr^ri forms its lair is very singular, generally being in 
the midst of tufted and impenetr able canes, rn marshy spots round the monarchs of 
the forest, which still stand like crus ed giants, with their grappling lines of 
creepers and virgin vines. 'I'he trunks of tfiese trees, which at times measure forty 
feet in circumference, a'-e nearly all liollow, and thus afford a convenient shelter for 
trie pcccaris, which retire to them every night in herds of twenty to twenty-five, 
entering the cavity one after the other backwards ; so that the last has the end of its 
snout placed just at the entrartce of the hole, ttius watching, as it were, over the 
rest of its companions. 

The peccaris are exceedingly ferocious ; they despise danger. They always 
attack in herds, and fight w tn unequalled rage until the last succumbs, no matter 
the nature of their foe. Hence men and animals all fly from these terrible beasts : 
the jaguar, so strong and redoubtable, will become their prey if it be so im- 
prudent as to attack them. This is the way they si t about Cutiqueting this wild 
beast : — 

\Vnen a jaguar has wounded a peccari, the latter collect, c'-a-^e i% and pursue 
until they can contrive to surround the common t-neir.-. . ’'Vtun every issue is 
closed, the jaguar, believing it can thus escuj'e, seeks refuge up a tree. But the 
peccaris establish themselves ar tire foot of the tree, being incessantly recruited bv 
fresh allies, and patiently waiting till the jaguar, driven to extremities by hunger 
and thirst, decides on (iescending from its improvised fortress, liic jaguar bounds 


Don Miguel Zarate. 


1 1 


into the midst of its enemies, and a terrible fight commences ; and the tiger, after 
covering the ground with victims, at length succumbs beneath the efforts of its 
assailants, and is ripped up by their tusks. 

After what we have said, it is easy to understand how precarious was the posi- 
tion of the man perched on the top of the tree and surrounded by peccaris. His 
enemies craftily crept round the tree, attacked its base with their tusks, and then 
recognising the inutility of their onsets, ihey quietly lay down by the carcass of 
the liorse, which they had already sacrificed to their fury. Don Miguel felt moved 
to pity for the poor fellow, whose position grew momentarily more critic \1. What 
was to be done ? H w, without sacrificing himself, save the man who ran so 
great a risk ? 

The Mexican hesitated for a long period. It seemed to Don Miguel impossible 
to leave this man without help. 'I'his idea, which presented itself to his mind 
several times, he had energetically repulsed, so monstrous did it appear to him. 

The stranger’s position was the more critical because, in his haste to defend 
himself from the attacks of his enemies, he nad let nis rifle fall at the foot of the 
tree, and was consequently unable to reduce their number. In spite of the fine- 
ness of scent, the latter had not noticed Don Miguel’s approach, v/ho, by a provi- 
dential accident, had entered the wood on the side opposite the wind. The Mexican 
dismounted, jiatted his horse, and then took off its accoutrements. The noble 
animal, habituated to his master’s caresses, shook its head joyously, and fixed its 
large intelligent eyes on him. Don Miguel could not repress another sigh ; a 
tear fell down his bronzed caeeks. On the point of accomplishing the SEwrifice, 
he hesitated. 

It was a faithful companion, almost a friend, he was about to separate from ; 
but the life of a man was at stake. The Mexican drove back the feelings that 
agitated him, and his resolution was formed. He passed a lasso round his horse’s 
neck, and in spite of its obstinate resistance, compelled it to advance to the entranex: 
of the clearing, in which the peccaris were assembled, A frail curtain of creepers 
and leaves alone hid it from their sight. On arriving here Don Miguel stopped : 
he had one more moment’s hesitation, but only one ; for then seizing a bit of tinder, 
which he lighted, he thrust it into the poor animal’s ear while caressing it. 

The effect was sudden and terrible. The horse uttered a snort of pain ; and 
rendered mad by the burning, bounded forward into the clearing, striving in vain to 
get lid of the tinder whi.h caused it intolerable suffering. Don Miguel had smartly 
leaj)ed aside, and now followed with an anxious glance the result of tlic terrible ten- 
tative he had just made to save the stranger. On seeing the horse appear suddenly 
in their midst, the peccaris rose, formed a compact group, and lU'hed with their 
head down in pursuit of the horse, thinking no longer of the man. The animal, 
spuired on still more by the sight of its ferocious enemies, shot ahead with the speed 
of an arrow, breaking down with its chest all the obstacles in its way, and 
followed closely by the peccaris. 

ff'he man was saved ; but at wnat a price ! The stranger had already descended 
from the tree ; but the emotion he had undergone was so extreme, that he remained 
seated on the ground, almost in a state of unconsciousness. 

“ Quick, quick ! ” Don Miguel said to him sharply. “ We have not a moment 
to lose : the peccaris may alter their minds and return.” 

Tnat is true,” the stranger muttered in a hollow voice. “ Let us be off — off at 
once.” 

He made an effort over himself, seized his rifle, and rose. Through a present!, 
ment for which he could not account to himself, Don Miguel experienced at the 
sig’it of this man, whom he had hitherto scarce looked at, a feeling of invincible 
doubt and disgust. 


12 


The Trail- Hunter. 


Still he did not allow his feflin;^s to be seen through, and invited this man to 
follow hint. The latter did not let the invitation be repeated ; for he was anxious 
to escape from the spot where he had been so near death. Thanks to the Mexican’s 
acquaintance with the country, the wood was speedily traversed, and the two men, 
after a walk of scarce an hour’s duration, reached the bariks of the Del Norte, just 
opposite the village. Their speed had t een so great, their anxietv so serious, that 
they had not exchanged a syllable, so terrified were they at the idea of seeing the 
pcccaris reappear. Fortunately this was not the case, and they reached the ford 
without be ng again disturbed. 

Don Miguel was burdened with his horse's trappings, which he now threw on the 
ground, and looked around him in the hope of firi.ling some one who would help 
him in crossing the river. His expectations were not deceived ; for just as they reached 
the ford an arriero was prepaiing to cross to the other side of the river with his 
recca of mules, and, with the generosity innate in all Mexicans, he offered to carry 
them both to the Paso. The two men eagerly accepted, each mounted a mule, 
and half an hour later they to md themselves in satety at the village. After giving 
the aniero a few reals to requite him for his oervices, Don Miguel took up fiis 
horse’s trappings again, and prepared to start. The stranger stopped. 

“ We are about to part here, Caballero, ’ he said in a rough voice, with a very 
marked English accent; “ but, before leaving let me express to you my deep grati- 
tude for the noble and generous manner in which you saved my life at the peril of 
your own.” 

“ Sir,” the Mexican simply answered, “ I only did my duty. In the desert all men 
are brothers, and owe eacia otiicr protection ; any otner in my place would have 
acted as 1 have (’one.” 

” Perhaps so,” the stranger continued ; ” but be kind enough, pray, to tell me 
me your name, so that 1 may know to whom 1 owe my life.’’ 

“That is needless,” Don Miguel said with a smile; ” let me give you a piece of 
advice.” 

“ What is it, sir ? ” 

“Never in future* to attack the peccaris. They are terrible enemies, only to be 
conquered by a strong body of men.” 

“ Be assured, sir, that I shall profit by the lesson I have received this day, and 
shall never put myself in such a wasp’s r.cst again. But I beg you, sir, do not let 
us separate ere I know the name of my preset vtr.” 

“As you insist, sir, you shall learn it. 1 am Don Miguel de Zarate.” 

“Ah!” he said in a singular tone, “thanks, Don Miguel Zarate. Without 
knowing you personally, I was alrea.dy acquainted with your name.” 

“Tnat is possible,” the haciendero ansaered; for 1 am well known in this 
country.” 

“ I, sir, am he whom the Indians call Wilchasta Jonte, the Man-eater, and the 
hunters Red Cedar.” 

And after lifiing his band to his cap in salute, tide man threw bis rifle on his 
shoulder, turned on his heel, and went off at full spe.d. Don Miguel looked after 
him for a while, and then walked pensively toward the house he inhabited at Paso. 
The haciendero did not suspect that he liad sacrificed his favourite iioise to save tne 
life of his most implacable enemy. 


CHAPTER III, 


THE WOUND. 

Next day Don Miguel, mounted on an excellent horse, left the Paso, and pro» 
ceeded toward the hacienda where he resided. It was situated a few miles from the 
Presidio of San Elezario, in a delicious position, and was known as the Hacienda de 
la Noria (the Farm of the Well). The estate inhabited by Don Miguel stood in the 
centre of the vast delta formed by the Del Norte and the Rio San Pedro, or Devil’s 
River. It was one of those strong and massive buildings which the Spaniards alone 
knew how to erect when they were absolute masters of Mexico. 

The hacienda formed a vast parallelogram, supported at regular distances by 
enormous cross walls of caivtd stone. Like all the trontier habitations, which are 
rather fortresses than houses, it was only pierced on the side of the plain with a few 
narrow windows resembling ltx)pholes, and protected by solid iron bars. This 
abode was begirt by a thick wall of circumvallation, defended on the top by that 
fretwork called almenas, which indicated the nobility of the owner. Within this wall, 
but separated from the chief apartments, were the stables, outhouses, barns, and 
cabins for the peons. 

At the extremity of the courtyard, in an angle of the hacienda, was the tall square 
belfry of the chapel, rising above its terraced roof. This chapel was served by a 
monk called Fray Ambrosio. \ magnificent j lain closed in this splendid farm. At 
the end of a valley more than fifty miles in length were cactus trees of a conical 
shape, loaded with fruit and flowers, and whose stems were as much as six feet in 
dian cter. 

Don Miguel employed a consider? ble number of peons in the cultivation of the 
sugar cane, which he carried on upon a large scale. 

Don Miguel advanced rapidly at the favourite pace of the Mexican ginetas^ a 
peculiar sort of amble which is very gentle and rapid. He was received on the 
threshold of the house by his daughter, who, warned of his arrival, had hastened to 
meet him. 

Don Miguel had been absent from home for a fortnight ; hence he received his 
daughter’s caresses with the greatest pleasure. When he had embraced her several 
times, while continuing to hold her tightly clasped in his arms, he regarded her 
attentively. 

What is the matter, mt querida Clara?” he asked with sympathy. Canyon 
feel vexed at the sight of me ? ” 

“ Oh, you cannot believe that, father ?” she answered quickly; “ for you know 
how happy your presence must render me.” 

“Thanks, my child ! But whence, in that case, comes the sorrow I see spread 

over your features ? ” 

The maiden let her eyes sink, but made no reply. Don Miguel threw a searching 

glance round. . . a i. 

“ Where is Don Pab’e? ” lie said, “ Can he be away from the hacienda? " 

“ No, father, he is here.” ^ ^ 

“ Well, tlien, wi.at is the reason he is not by your side? ’ 

“ He is ill.” 

“ My son ill ! ” Don Miguel exclaimed. 

“ My father, the tact is that Pablo is wounded.” 

“ Wounded ! ” the haciendero sharply said ; and thrusting his daughter aside, 
he rushed towards the house, bounded up the few steps leading to the porch, crossed 
several rooms without stopping, and reached his son’s chamber. The young man 


The TraiUHunter, 




was lying' weak and faint, on his bed ; but on perceiving his parent he smiled, and 
held his hand to him. 

“ What IS this wound of which I have heard ? ” the father asked in great agita- 

“ Less than nothing father,” the voung man replied. Clara is a foolish girl, 
who, in her tenderness, wiongly alarmed you.” 

” But, after all, you are wounded ? ” the father continued. 

” But 1 lepcat that it is a mere nothing.” 

“ Come, explain yourself. How and when did you receive this wound ? I insist 
on knowing.” 

” Good heavens, father ! ” Don Pablo replied with an air of ill-humour. I do 
not understand why vou are alarmed for so futile a cause. 1 am not a child wnom 
a scratch should make frightened.” 

” That is possible ; but the mode in which you answer me, the care you seem 
trying to take to keep me ignorant of the cause of this wound — in a word, every- 
thing tells me that this time you arc trying to hide something.” 

” You are mistaken, father, and shall convince yourself.” 

“I wish nothing more: speak. Clara, my child, go and give orders to have 
breakfast prepared, for I am dying of hunger.” 

'I'hc girl went out. 

“ Now it is our turn,” Don Miguel continued. ** In the first place, where arc you 
wounded ? ” 

“ Oh 1 I have merely a slight scratch on my shoulder.” 

“ Hum ! and what scratched your shoulder.’” 

” A bullet.” 

”What! a bullet? Then you must have fought a duel, unhappvboy!” Don 
MU ;uel cxcla-tmed with a shudder. 

'I'he young man smiled, pressed his father’s hand, and bending toward him, 
said, — 

‘‘'['his is what has happened. Two days after your departure, father, I was super- 
intending the cutting of the cane crop, when a hunter whom you will probably 
remember having seen prowling about the estate, a man of the name of Andres 
Gaiote, accosted me at the moment I was about to return home after giving my 
orders to the majordomo. After saluting me obsequiouslv, the scamp smiled cun- 
ningly, and lowering his voice so as not to be overheard by those around us said, 
Don Pablo, 1 fancy you would give half an ounce to the man wtio brought you 
important news ? ’ * That depends,’ I -answered ; fur h viiig known the man a long 

time, I was awaic much confidence could not be placed in him. ‘ Bah! your Grace 
is so rich,’ he continued insidiously, ‘ that a miserable sum like that is less than 
nothing in his pocket, while in mine it would do me a deal of good.’ 

“ Apart from his defects, this scamp had at times done us a few small services ; 
and then, as he said, a half-ounce is but a trifle, so I gave it to him. He stowed it 
away in his pockets, and then bent down to my ear. ‘ Thanks, Don Pablo,’ he said 
to me. ‘ I shall not cheat you of your money. Your horse is rested, and can 
stand a long journey. Proceed to Buffalo Valiev, and there you will learn some- 
thing to interest you.’ It was in vain that I urged him to explain himself more 
clearly; I could draw no more from him. He merely added before parting frorr 
me, ‘ Don Pablo, you have good weapons ; so take them with you, for no ma. 
knoweth wh .t may happen.’ Somehow the scamp’s veiled confidences arouseo 
my curiosity: hence 1 resolved to go to Buffalo Valley, and gain the clue ot this 
riddle.” 

” Andres Garote is a villain, who laid a snare for you into which you fell,” Don 
Miguel interrupted. 


The Squatter s Shanty. 


^5 


**No, father. Andr&s was honest toward me, and I have only thanks to give 
him. Still he should have explained himself, perhaps, more distinctly.” 

“Go on,’’ said the hacicndeio. 

“ 1 entered the house, procured my weapons, and then, mounted on Negro, my 
black charger, I proceeded toward Buffalo Valley. As you are aware, fatner, the 
place we call so, and which belongs to us, is an immense forest of cedars and maples, 
nearly forty miles in circumference, and traversed almost through its entire length by 
a wide confluent of the Rio San Pedro.” 

“ Of course I know it, and I intend next year to fell some of the wood there.” 

“ Y ou need not take that trouble,” the young man said with a smile, ” for some 
one else has done it for you.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” the haciendero asked wrathfully. “ Who has dared ? ” 

“ O ! one of those wretchc.l heretic squatters, as they call themselves. The villain 
found the spot to suit him, and has quietly settled there with his whelps — three big 
fellows with hang-dog faces, who laughed at me when I told them that the forest 
was mine, and answered, while aiming at me, that they were North Americans, who 
cared as little for me as they did for a coyote. What more shall I tell you, father ? 
\ take after you. I have hot blood, and 1 cordially hate the race of Y ankce pirates, 

1 who, for some years back, have settled on our lovely country like a swarm of mus- 
I quitos. I saw our forest plundered, our finest trees cut down. I could not remain 
unmoved in the presence of these scoundrels’ insolence, and the quarrel became so 
sharp that they fired at me.” 

“ Firgcn Santissima ! ” Don Miguel exclaimed in fury, ” they shall pay dearly for 
the affront they have offered you, 1 swear it! ” 

“ Why be so angry, father ? ” the young man replied, visibly annoyed at the effect 
his story had produced. “ The harm these people do us is really very trifling. 1 
was in the wrong to let my passion carry me away.” 

“ On the contrary, you were right, i will not have these Northern thieves come 
and plunder here.” 

“ I assure you that, if you will leave me to act, 1 feel ceitain of arranging this 
affair to your satisfaction.” 

“ I forbid you taking the slightest steps, for this matter concerns me now. Will 
you promise me } ” 

“ As you insist, I do so, father.” 

= i< Very good. Get cured as speedily as possible, and keep your mind at rest. The 
•’ankees shall pay me dearly for the blood they have shed.’* 

I With these words Don Miguel retired, and his son fell back on his bed stifling a 
■ <'igh« 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE squatter’s SHANTV. 

Dov PABr.o had not told his father the facts in all their truth. He had fallen into a 
erfect ambuscade. He was suddenly attacked by the three brothers, who would 
ave mercilessly killed him, resolved to lay the blame of his death on the wild beasts, 
had not, at the moment when one of them lifted his knife on the young man, who 
was thrown down and lendercd motionless by the others, a providential succour 
reached him in the person of a charming maid scarce sixteen years of age. 

The courageous girl rushed horn a copse, and threw herself resolutely into the 
midst of the assassins. 


The Trail- Hunter, 


i6 


** What arc you about, brothers? ” she exclaimed ir a melodious voice. “ Why 
do you wish to kill this stranger? ’’ 

The three squatters, surprised bv this apparition, which they were far from expect- 
ing, fell back a few paces. Don Pablo profited by this tiuce to regain possession of 
his arms, which had fallen by his side. 

“ Was it not enough,” the girl continued, “ to rob this man, that you must now 
try to take his life? Fie, brothers ! Do you not know that blood leaves on the hands 
of him who spills it stains which nothing can efface? Let this man retire in 
peace.” 

The young men hesitated. Although unconsciously yielding to their sister's 
influence, they were ashamed of thus executing her wishes. 

“ Ellen is right,” the youngest of her brothers suddenly said. “ No, I will not 
*llow any harm to be done to tne stranger.” 

1 he others looked at him savagely. 

“ You would defend him, if necessary, I suppose, Shaw ? ” Nathan said to him 
ironically. 

** Why should I not, were it required? ” the young man said boldly. 

“ Eh ! ” Sutter remarked with a grin ; he is thinking of the Wood Eglantine." 

This word had been scarce uttered ere Shaw, with purpled face, contracted 
features, and eyes injected with blood, rushed with uplifted knife on his brother, who 
awaited him firmly. The girl dashed between them. 

” Peace, peace,’’ she shrieked in a piercing voice. " Do brothers dare threaten 
one another ? ” 

The two young fellows remained motionless, but watching, and ready to strike in 
a moment. Don Pablo fixed an ardent glance on the girl, who was really admi- 
rable at this moment. 

In her whole person she offered the complete type of the gentle northern woman. 
Her hair light and golden like ripe corn ; her eyes of extreme purity, which reflected the 
azure of the sky ; her earnest mouth, w’ith rosy lips and pearly teeth ; her flexible 
and small waist ; the whiteness of her complexion, whose delicate and transparent 
skin still bore the flush of adolescence — all \\as combined in this charming maiden 
to render her the most seductive creature imaginable. 

Don Pablo felt himself involuntarily attracted toward the girl. 

'I'his young creature, so frail and de!ic'^tc, formed a strange contrast writh the tall 
statures and marked features of her brothers, whose coarse and savage manners only 
served to heighten the elegance and charm exhaled by her whole person. Still this 
scene could not be prolonged, and must be ended at once. Tne maiden walked 
toward Don Pablo. 

“ Sir,” she said to him with a soft smile, “ you have nothing more to fear from 
my brothers ; you can mount your horse again, and set out, and no one will oppose 
your departure.” 

The young man understood that he had no pretext to prolong his stay at this 
spot ; he therefore let his head sink, placed his pistols in his holsters, leaped on his 
horse, and set out with regret. 

He had scarce gone a league when he heard the hasty clatter of a horse behind 
him. He turned back. The approaching horseman was Shaw, wko soon caught 
up with Don Pablo. The pair then proceeded some distance side by side without 
exchanging a syllable, and both seemed plunged in thought. On reaching the skirt 
of ti.e forest, Shaw checked his horse, and softly laid his right hand on the Mexic n’s 
bridle. Don Pablo also stopped on this hint, and waited, while fixing an inquiring 
glance on his strange comrade. 

” Stranger,” the young man said, “ my sister sends me. She implores you, if it 
be possible, to keep secret what has occurred between us to-day. Sue deeply regrets 


7'he S<]uatter s Shanty. 


V 


the attack to which you fell a victim, and the wound you have received ; and she 
will try to persuade Red Cedar, our father, to retire from your estates.” 

” Thank vour sister for me.’’ Don Pablo answered, Tell her that her slightest 
wish will ever be a command.” 

‘‘ 1 will repeat your words to her.” 

” Thanks. Render me a pa ting service.” 

“ Speak.” 

** What is your sister’s name ?” 

“ Ellen. She is the guardian anrrel of our hearth. My name is Shaw.” 

I am obliged to you for telling me your name, though I cannot guess the 
reason that induces you to do so. 

“ I will tell you. I love my sister Ellen before all : she urged me to offer you my 
friendship. I obey her.” 

“ I shall not forget it, though I hope never to be under the necessity of reminding 
you of your words,” 

“ All the Wv rse,” the American said with a shake of his head ? but if at any 
time the opportunity offers, I will prove to you that 1 am a man of my word.” 

And hurriedly turning his horse’s head, the young man rapidly disappeared in 
the windings of the forest. 

Buffalo Valley, illumined by the parting ravs of the setting sun, seemed a lake of 
verdure to which the golden mist of night imparted magical tones. A light breeze 
rustled through the lofty crests of the cedars, catalpas, tulip and Peru trees, and 
agitated the grass on the banks of the Rio San Pedro. Don Pablo let the reins 
float idly on his horse’s neck, and advanced dreamily through the forest, where the 
birds were leaping from spray to spray, each saluting in its language the arrival of 
night. 

An hour later the young man reached the hacienda ; but the wound he had 
received in his shoulder was more serious than was at first supposed. 

So soon as the Mexican had gone off, the squatters continued felling trees and 
sawing planks, and did not abandon this work till the night had grown quite black. 
Ellen had returned to the interior of the jacal, where she attended to the house- 
keeping duties with her mother. 'I'he jacal was a wretched hut, hastily made with 
branches of intertwined trees, which trembled with every breeze, and let the sun 
and rain penetrate to the interior. 

This cabin was divided into three compartments ; the one to the right served as 
the bedroom of the two females, while the men slept in the one to tne left. The 
central compartment furnished with worm-eaten benches and a Ciumsily-plancd 
table, was at once keeping-room and kitchen. 

It was late : the squatters assembled round the fire, over which a huge iron pot 
was boiling, were silently awaiting the return of Red Cedar, who had been absent 
since the morning. At length a horse’s hoofs sounded sharply on the detritus col- 
lected for years on the floor of the forest, the noise grew gradually nearer, the horse 
stopped in front of the jackal, and a man made his appearance. It was Red Cedar. 
The men slowly turnerl their heads toward him, but did not otherwise disturb them- 
selves, or address a syllable to him. 

Ellen alone rose and embraced her father affectionately. The giant seized the 
girl in his nervous arms, raised lier from the ground, and kissed her several times, 
saving, in his lough voice, which his tenderness sensibly softened, — 

“ Good even'ng, my dear.’’ 

Then he put her down on the ground again, and not troubling himself further 
about her, fell heavily on a benen near the fire. 

•* Come, wife,” he said, after the expiiation of a moment, ” the supper, in lha 
fiend’s name 1” 

B 


The Trail- Hunter. 


iP 


A few moments lat^r and an immense dish of frijoles, with pimento, smoked on 
the table, with large pots of pulque. The meal was short and silent, the four men 
eating with extreme voracity. So soon as the beans had disappeared, Red Cedar and 
his sons lit their pipes, and began smoking, while drinking large draughts of whiskey, 
though still not speaking. At length Red Cedar took his pipe from his lips, and hit 
the table sharply, while saying in a rough voice, — 

Come, women, decamp ! You have nothing more to do here. You are in our 
way, so go to the deuce !” 

Ellen and her mother immediately went out, and entered their separate apart- 
ment. For a few minutes they could be heard moving about, and then all became 
silent again. 

A strange scene then occurred in this mean room, which was merely illumined 
by the expiring light of the hearth. The four men rose, opened a large chest, and 
produced from it various objects of strange shapes — leggings, mittens, buffalo 
robes, collars of grizzly bear claws ; in a word, the costumes of Apache Indians, 
completing the metamorphosis by painting their faces. 

The garments which the squatters had taken off were locked up in the chest, of 
which Red Cedar took the key ; and the tour men, armed with their American rifles, 
lelt the cabin, mounted their horses, which were awaiting them ready saddled, and 
started at full gallop through the winding forest paths. 


CHAPTER V. 

TUB RANOBRS* 

Os the banks of the Rio San Pedro, and on the side of a hill, stood a rancheria com- 
posed of some ten cabins, inhabited by a population of about sixty men, women, and 
children. These people were Coras Indians, hunters and agriculturists, belonging to 
the Tortoise tribe. These poor Indians lived there on terms of peace with their neigh- 
bours. Quiet and inoffensive beings, duiing the nearly twenty years they had been 
established at this place, they had never once offered a subject of complaint to their 
neighbours, who, on the contrary, were glad to sec them prosper, owing to their 
gentle and hospitable manners. 

On the night when we saw the squatters leave their cabin in disguise, some 
twenty individuals, armed to the teeth, and clothed in strange costume, with their 
faces blackened so as to render them unrecognisable, were bivouacked at about two 
leagues from the rancheria, in a plain on the river’s bank. Seated or lying round 
huge fires, they were singing, laughing, quarrelling, or gambling with multi- 
tudinous yells and oaths. Two men, seated apart, at the foot of an enormous 
cactus, were conversing in a low tone, while smoking their husk cigarettes. These 
two men, of whom we have already spoken to the reader, were Fray Ambrosio, chap- 
lain to the Hacienda dc la Noria, and Andres Garote, the hunter. 

Andres was a tall, thin fellow, with a sickly and cunning face, who draped him- 
self defiantly in his sordid rags, but whose weapons were in a perfectly good 
condition. 

The men assembled at this moment on the banks of the Rio San Pedro were 
preparing for a war-party— the name they give to the massacres they organise 
against the red-skins. 

Towards midnight Red Cedar and his three sons reached the rangers’ camp. 
They must have been impatiently expected, for the bandits received them with 
marks of the greatest joy and the warmest enthusiasm. The dice, cards, and botas 


The Rangers. 


of mezcal and whiskey were immediately deserted. The rangers mounted their 
horses, and grouped round the squatters, near whom stoird Fray Ambrosio and his 
friend Andies Garotc. 

R. d Cedar took a glance round the mob, and could not repress a smile of pride at 
the sight of the rich collection of bandits of every desctiption whom he had around 
him, and who recognised him as chief. 

“ Senores Caballeros,” he said in a powerful and marked voice, which made all 
these scamps quiver with deli mit, “ the audacity of the red-skins is growing intoler- 
able. If we let them alone they would soon inundate the country, when they would 
end by expelling us. This state of things must have an end. The Government 
complains about the few scalps we supply ; it says we do not carry out the clauses 
of the agreement we have formed with it ; it talks about disbanding us, as our 
services are useless, and therefore burdensome to the Republic. I have assembled 
you here for a war-party, which I have been meditating for some time. We are 
about to attack the rancheria of the Coras, who for some years past have had the 
impudence to estabiish themselves near this spot. They are pagans and thieves, 
who have a hundred times merited the severe chastisement we are about to inflict on 
them. But I implore you, senores Caballeros, display no mistaken pity. Crush 
this race of vipers — let not one escape 1 ” 

This harangue was greeted as it deserved to be ; that is, by yells of joy. 

“ Senores,” Red Cedar continued, “ the worthy monk wdl now call down the 
blessings of Heaven on our enterprise ; so kneel down to receive his absolution.” 

The bandits instantaneously dismounted, took off their hats, and knelt on the 
sand. Fray Ambrosio tnen repeated a long prayer, to which they listened with 
exemplary patience, repeating amen after each occasion, and he ended by giving 
them absolution. The rangers rose, delighted at being thus freed from the burden 
of their sins, and got into their saddles again. 

Red Cedar then whispered a few words in Fray Ambrosio’s ears, who bowed his 
head in assent, and immediately set out in the direction of the Hacienda de la Noria, 
followed by Andres Garotc. The squatter then turned to the rangers, who were 
awaiting his orders. 

“ Y ou know where we are going, gentlemen,” he said. ” Let us start, and, 
before all, fe silent, if we wish to catch our game in its lair.** 

The gloomy horsemen now went on, silent and frowning. At the end of scarce 
an hour the rancheria was reached. All were resting in the village — not a light 
flashed in a hut. The Indians, wearied with the hard toil of the day, were reposing, 
full of confidence in the sworn faith, and apprehending no treason. 

Red Cedar halted twenty yards from the rancheria, and drew up his horsemen so 
as to sui round the village on all sides. When each had taken his post, and the 
torches were lighted, Red Cedar uttered the terrible war-cry of the Apaches, and the 
rangers galloped at full speed on the village, uttering ferocious howls, and brandish- 
ing the torches, which they threw on the cabins. 

The unhappy Indiairs, surprised in their sleep, rushed terrified and half naked out 
of their poor abodes, and were pitilessly massacred and scalped by the rangers, who 
waved with a demoniac laugh their smoking blood -dripping scalps. Men, women, 
and children, all were killed with refinements of barbarity. The village, fired by the 
rangers’ torches, soon became an immense funereal pile, in which victims and 
muiderers were tiuddled pell-mell. 

Still a few Indians had succeeded in collecting. Formed in a compact troop of 
twenty men, they opposed a desperate resistance to their assassins, exasperated by 
the odour of blood aiivl the intoxication of carnage. At the head of this band was a 
half-nude, tall Indian of intelligent features, who, armed with a ploughshare, which 
he wielded with extreme force and skill, fehed all the assailants who came within 


ao 


Tke 'h ail- Hunter. 


reach of his terrible weapon. This man was the cacique ot the Coras. At his feet 
lays his mother, wife, and two children— dead. The unhappy man struggled with 
the energy ot despair. He knew his life would be sacrificed, but he wished to sell 
it as dearly as possible. 

In vain had the rangers fired on the cacique — he seemed invulnerable: not one of 
the bullets aimed at him had struck him. He still fought, and the weight of his 
weapon did not seem to fatigue his arm. The rangers excited each other to finish 
him ; but not one dared to approach him. 

But this combat of giants could not endure longer. Of the twenty companions he 
had round him on commencing the struggle, toe cacique now only saw two or three 
upright: the rest were dead. There must be an end. Tne circle that inclosed the 
hapless Indian drew closer and closer. Henceforth it was only a question of time 
with him. I'he rangers, recognising the impossibility of conquering this lion- 
hearted man, had changed their tactics : trrey no longer attacked him, but contented 
themselves with forming an impassable circle round him, waiting prudently for the 
moment when the strength of the prey, which could not escape them, was exhausted, 
in order to rush upon him. 

The Coras understood the intention of his enemies A contemptuous smile con- 
tracted his haughty lips, and he rushed resolutely toward these men who recoiled 
before him. Suddenly, with a movement quicker than thought, he threw with 
extraordinary strength the ploughshare among the rangers, and bounding like a 
pantiier, leaped on a horse, and c utched its rider with superhuman vigour. 

Ere the rangers had recovered from the surprise this unforeseen attack occasioned 
in them, by a desperate effort, and still holding the hor.seman, the chieftain drew 
from his girdle, a .short sharp knife, which he buried up to the hilt in the flanks of 
the horse. The animal uttered a shriek of pam, rushed headlong into the crowd, 
and bore both away with maddening speed. 

The rangers, reudeicd furious at being played with by a single mas, and seeing 
their most terrible enemy escape them, started in pursuit ; but with his liberty the 
Coras had regained all his energy > ne felt himself saved. In spite of the desperate 
eftoits the rangers made to catch him up, he disappeared in the darkness. 

The cacique continued to fly till he felt his horse tottering under him. He had 
not loosed his hohl ot the horseman, who was half strangled by the rude embrace, 
and both rolled on the ground. This man wore the costume of the Apache Indians. 

“ You are not a red-skin,” said the Coras in a hollow voice * “ you are on.y a 
pale-face dog. Wny put on the skin of the lion when you are a cowardly coyote 

The ranger, still stunned by the fall he had suffered, and the hug he had endured, 
did not reply. 

“ I could kill you,” the Indian continued ; “ but my vengeance would not be 
complete. You and yours must pay me for all the innocent blood you have shed 
like cowards this night. I will mark you, so that I may know >ou again." 

Then, with fearful coolne.ss, the Coras threw the ranger on his back, put his knee 
on his chest, and hurving his finger in the socket of his eye, gave it a sharp rotatory 
movement, and plucked ( ut his eyeball. On this frightful mutilation the wretch 
uttered a cry of pain impossible to ot scribe. The Indian got up. 

‘ Go! ” he said to him. “ Now I am certain of finding you again whenever I 
want you.” 

Ai this moment the sound of hoofs could be heard a shoit distance off; the ran- 
gers had evidently heard their comrade’s cry, and wt re hurrying to his aid. I'he 
Coras rushed into the bushes and disappeared. A few moments later the rangers 
came up. * 

‘‘ Nathan, my son ! ” Red Cedar shouted, as he It aped from his horse, and threw 
himself on the body of the wounded man. “ Nathan, niy first born is dead 1 ” 


Trie Fulleif of ihe Bu[j'ub. 


2 ) 


“ No,” one of the ranp^ers anwered ; “ but he is very bad.” 

It was really the squatter’s eldest son whom the cacique had mutilated. Red 
Cedar seized him in his arms, placed him I'efore him on the saddle, and the band 
started again at a gallop. Tlie rangers had accomplished their task ; they had 
sixty human scalps hanging from their girdles. The rancheria of the Coias was 
no longer aught save a pile of ashes. 

Of all the inhabitants of this hapless village only the cacique survived ; but he 
would suffice to avenge his brothers. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE VALLEY Of THE BUFFALO. 

Don Miguel Zaeate, on leaving his son, remounted his horse and rode straight to 
Paso, to ttie house of Don Luciano Perez, the police magistrate. 

Tne hacicndero was one of the richest landed proprietors in the country; and as 
he was thoroughly acquainted with the spirit of the depositories of justice in those 
paits, he had consequently been careful to line his purse well. 

The woithy 1 'on Luciano shuddered on hearing the details of what had occurred 
between Don Pablo and the squatters. He swore that he would, without delay, take 
an exemplary vengeance for this startling felony on the part of the heretic dogs. 
Confnming himself more and more in his resolution, he buckled on his sword, gave 
orders to twenty well-armed alguazils to mount, and placing himself at the head 
of this numerous escort, he proceeded toward buffalo Valley. 

Don Miguel had witnessed with secret annoyance all these formidable preparations. 
He placed but slight confidence i the courage of the polic men, and he would have 
preferred the judge leaving him master to act as he pleased. He had even adroitly 
attempted to obtain from Don Luciano a regular warrant, which he would have 
executed however he might think proper ; but the judge, burning with an un- 
usual warlike ardour, and spurred on by the large sum he had received, would listen 
to nothing, but insisted on himself taking the head of the expedition. 

Don Luciano Perez was a plump little man of about sixty years of age, round as a 
tub, with a jolly red ^ace, adorne 1 with a rubicund nose and two cunning little eyes. 
This man cordially detested the Noith Americans. 

The little band proceeded rapidly toward the forest. The judge hurled fire and 
flames at the audacious usurpcis, as he called them : he spoke of nottiing less than 
killing them without mercy, if they attempted even the slightest resistance to his 
orders. Don Miguel, who was much calmer, and foreboded no good from this great 
wrath, sought in vain to pacity him by telling him that he would in all probability 
have to do with men difficult to intimidate. 

They gradually approached. The haciendeto, in order to shorten the journey, had 
led the band by a cross road, which saved one-third the distance ; and the first trees 
of the forest already appeared about two miles off. The mischief produced by the 
squatters was much more considerable than Don Pablo had represented ; and, at the 
first glance, it seemed impossible that, in so short a lime, four men, even though 
working vigorously, could have accomplished it. The finest trees lay on the ground, 
enormous piles ot planks weie arranged at regular distances, and on the San Pedro 
an already completed raft only awaited a few more stems ot trees to be thrust into 
the water. 

Don Miguel could not refrain from sighing at the sight of the devastation com- 
OUited in one of his best forests; but the nearer t.hey approached the spot where 


2 % 


The Trail-Hunter. 


they expected to meet the squatters the more lukewarm grew the w irlike zeal of the 
judge arid his acolytes, and the haciendero s;>on found f iniself compelled to urge 
them on, instead of restraining them as he had hitherto done. Suddenly the sound 
of an axe re-echoed a few paces ahead of the band. The judge, impelled by the 
feeling of his duty, and shame of appearing frightened, advanced boldly in the direc- 
tion of the sound, followed by his escort. 

“ Stop ! ” a rough voice shouted at that moment. 

With that instinct of self-preservation which never abandons them, the alguazils 
stopped as if their horses’ feet had been suddenly welded to the ground. 'Ten paces 
from them stood a man in the centre of the ride, leaning on an American rifle. 
The judge turned to Don Miguel with such an expression of hesita'.ion and honest 
terror that the haciendero could not refrain from laughing. 

“ Come, courage, Don Luciano ! ” he said to him. “ This man is alone.” 

“ nil diablos ! ” the judge exclaimed, ashamed of this impression which he 
could not master, and frowning portentously, forward, you fellows, and fire on 
that scoundrel if he makes but a sign to resist you.” 

The alguazils set out again with prudential hesitation. 

” Stop 1 I tell you again,” the squatter repeated. ” Did you not hear the order I 
gave you ? ” 

The judge now said with a tone which he strove to render terrible, but which was 
only ridiculous through the terror he revealed, — 

” I, Don Luciano Perez, de letrns of the town of Paso, have come, by r irtue of 
the powers delegated to me oy the Government, to summon you and your adherents 
to quit within twenty-four ho*rs this forest.” 

“Ta, ta ! ” the stranger shouted, rudely interrupting the judge, and stamping his 
foot savagely. I care as much for all your words and laws as I do for an old 
mocassin. The ground belongs to the first comers. We are comfortable here, and 
mean to remain.” 

“ Your language is very bold, young man,” Don Miguel then said, “You do 
not consider that you are alone, and that we have strengtti on our side.” 

The squatter burst into a laugh. 

“ You believe that,” he said. ” Learn, stranger, that I care as little for the ten 
fools I now have before me as I do for a woodcock, and that they will do well to 
leave me at peace, unless they want to learn the weight of my arm at their 
expense.” 

And he began carelessly whistling “ Yankee Doodle.” At the same instant three 
men, at the head of whom was Red Cedar, appeared. At the sight of these un- 
expected reinforcements the alguazils made a movement in retreat. The affair was 
becoming singularly complicated. 

‘‘HuHohl what’s up?” the old man asked roughly. “Anything wrong, 
Sutter ? ” 

“ These people,” the young man answered, shrugging his shoulders contemp- 
tuously, “ are talking about driving us from the fi'rest by virtue of some order.” 

“ Hulloh I ” Red Cedar said. “ The only law I recognize in the desert,” he con- 
tinued with a gesture of terrible energy, as he struck his rifle barrel, “ is this. With- 
draw, strangers, if you do not wish blood to he shed between us. 1 am a peaceful 
man, wishing to do no one a hurt ; but I warn you that 1 will not allow myself to 
be kicked out without striking a blow.” 

” You will not be turned out,” the judge remarked timidly ; on the contrary, you 
have seized on what belongs to other people 

“ 1 won’t listen to arguments, which I do not understand,” the squatter roughly 
exclaimed. ” God gave the ground to man that he might labour on it. Every 
proprietor who does not fulfil this condition tacitly renounces his rights, and the 


The Tullty of the BujJ'alo, 


*3 


earth then becomes the property of the man who til's it with the sweat of his brow; 
so gfo to the devil I Be off at full speed, if you do not wish harm to happen to 
you ! " 

“ We will not suffer ourselves to be intimidated by your threats,’* the judge said, 
** we w>ll do our duty, whatever may happen.” 

“Try it,” Red Cedar said with a grin. 

And he made a sign to his sons. The latter arranged themselves in a single 
line. 

“ In the name of the law,” the judge said with energy, as he pointed out the old 
man, “ alguazils, seize that person.” 

But, as so frequently happens under similar circumstances, this order was more 
easy to give than to execute. Red Cedar and his sons did not appear at all disposed 
to let themselves be collared. 

“ For the last time, will you be off?” the squatter shouted. “ Let them have it.” 

His three sons raised their rifles. At this movement, which proved to them that 
the squatters would not hesitate to proceed to extremities, the alguazils were seized 
with an invincible terror. They turned bridle and galloped oflF at full speed. 

One man alcne remained motionless before the squatters — Don Miguel Zarate. 
Red Cedar had not recognised him. Don Miguel dismounted, placed the pistols 
from his holsters through his belt, fastened his horse to a tree, and coolly throwing 
his rifle across his shoulders, boldly advanced toward the squatters. The latter, 
surprised by the courage of this man, who alone attempted what his comrades had 
given up all hopes of achieving, let him come up to them without offering the 
slightest opposition. When Don Miguel was a couple of paces from the old 
squatter, he stopped, put the butt of his rifle on the ground, and removing his hat, 
said, — 

“ Do you recognise me. Red Cedar?” 

“ Don Miguel Zarate I ” tt;e bandit shouted. 

“ As the judge deserts me,” the haciendero continued, “ and has fled like a coward, I 
am obliged to take justice for myself, and, by heavens, I will do so ! ” Red Cedar, 
I, as owner of this forest, order you to depart at once,” 

The young men exchanged a few muttered threats. 

“ Silence ! ” Red Cedar commanded. “ Let the caballcro speak.” 

“ I have finished, and await your answer.” 

The squatter appeared to reflect deeply. 

“ The answer you demand is difficult to give,” he at length said ; “ my position 
toward you is not a free one.” 

“ 1 dispense you from all gratitude,” 

“ That is possible. Y ou are at liberty to do so ; but I cannot forget the service 
you rendered me.” 

“ It is of little consequence.” 

“ Much more than you fancy, Caballero. 1 may be, through my character, habits, 
and the mode of life I lead, beyond the law of civilised beings ; but I am not the 
less a man.” 

“ Prove it, then, by going away as quickly as you can, and then we shall be 
quits.” 

The squatter shook his head. 

“ Listen to me, Don Miguel,” he said. “You have in this country the reputa- 
tion of being the providence of the unfortunate. I know from myself the extent of 
your kindness and courage. It is said that you possess an immense fortune, ot 
which you do not yourself know the extent.” 

“ Well, what then ? *’ 

“ 'J'he damage I can commit here, even if I cut down all the trees in the forest, 


24 


The Trail-Hunter. 


would be but a trifle to you: then whence comes the fury you display to drive me 
out ? ’’ 

“ Your question is just, and I will answer it. I demand your departure from my 
estates because, only a tew davs badk, my son was grievously wounded by your 
lads, who led him into a cowardly snare; and if he escaped death, it was only 
through a miracle,” 

“ Is this true? ” said Red Cedar. 

The young men only hung their heads in reply. 

“ I am waiting,” Don Miguel went on. 

“ Come, the question cannot be settled thus, so we will proceed to my jacal.** 

“ For what purpose ? I ask vou for a yes or a no.” 

“I cannot answer you yet. We must have a conversation together. Follow me, 
then, without fear.’* 

” I fear nothing, as I believe I have proved to you. Go on, as you demand it: 1 
will follow you.” 

Red Cedar made his sons a sign to remain where they were, and proceeded with 
long strides toward his jacal, which was but a s lort distance off. Don Miguel 
walked carelessly after him. They entered the cabin. It was deserted. The two 
females were doubtless also occupied in the forest. R ;d Cedar closed the door 
after him, sat down on a bench, and made his guest a sign to do the same. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE ASSASSINATION, 

** Listen to me, Don Miguel,** Red Cedar said, “ and pray do not mistake my 
meaning. I have not the slightest intention of intimidating you, nor do I think of 
attempting to gain your confidence by revelations which you may fairly assume 1 
have accidentally acquired.” 

” I do not und rstand you,*' said the haciendero. “ Explain yourself more clearly, 
for the words you have j.ust uttered are an enigma.” 

“ Y ou shall be satisfied, Caballero ; and if you do not catch the meaning of my 
words this time it must be because you will not. Like all intelligent men, you a e 
weaiied of the snuggles in which the vital strength of your country is exhausted. 
You have seen that a land so rich, so fertile, so gloriously endowed as Mexico, could 
not — I should say ought not — to remain longer the plaything of paltry ambitions. 
For neaily thirty years you have dreamed of emancipation, not of your entire 
country, for that would be too rude a task, and unrealisable ; but you said to your- 
self, ‘ Let us render New Mexico independent ; form it into a new State, governed by 
wise laws rigorously executed. By liberal institutions let us give an impetus to all 
the riches with which it is choked, give intellect all the liberty it requires, and per- 
haps within a few years the entire Mexican Confederation, amazed by the magnificent 
results I shall obtain, will follow my example. Are not those ideas yours, Caballero ? 
Do you consider that I have explained myself clearly this time ? ” 

” Perhaps so. The thoughts you attribute to me are such as naturally occur to 
al men wh.> sincerely love their country, and I will not pretend that I have not 
entertained them.” 

‘‘You would Ire wrong in doing so, for they arc great and noble, and breathe the 
purest patiiotisin.” 

” A truce to compliments, and let us come to the point, for time presses.** 

“ Patience. These ideas must occur to you sooner than to another as you are 


'lie Assassina'ion. 


25 


the descendant of the first. Aztec kings, and born defender of the Indians in this 
hapless country. You see that I am well acquainted with you, Don Miguel 
Zaiate. 

“ Too well, perhaps,” the Mexican gentlemen muttered. 

The squatter smned and went on : — 

“ It is not chance that led me to this country. 1 knew what I was doing, and 
why I came. Don Miguel, the hour is a solemn one. All your preparations are 
made ; will you tiesitaie to give New Mexico tne signal which must render it inde- 
pendent of the metiopolis. Answer me.” 

Don Miguel started. He fixed on the squatter a burning glance, in which ad- 
miration at the man’s languaj^e. could be read. 

“ What 1 do you still doubt ? ” said Red Cedar. 

He rose, went to a box trom which he took some papers, and threw them on the 
table, saying, — 

“ Read.” 

Don Miguel hurriedly seized the papers, and ran his eye over them. 

“ Well ?” he said, looking fixedly at the speaker. 

“ You see,” the squatter answered, “ that I am your accomplice. General Ibanez 
your agent in Mexico, is in correspondence with me, as is Mr. Wood, your agent at 
New York.” 

“ It is true,” the Mexican said coldly, “ you have the secret of the conspiracy. 
The only point left is to wliat extent tiiat goes.” 

“ I possess it eniirely, and you see, by these letters of General Ibanez and Mr. 
Wood, that I am commissioned by them to come to an understanding with you, and 
receive your final orders. Now what do you propose doing ? ” 

‘‘Nothing.” 

“ What nothing I ” the squatter exclaimed, bounding with surprise. “ You are 
jesting, 1 suppose.” 

“ Listen to me. I know not, nor care to know, by what means, more or less 
honourable, you have succeeded in gaining the confidence of my partners, and 
becoming master ot our secrets. Still it is my firm ^nviction that a cause which 
employs such men as yourself is compromised, if not lost, thence I renounce every 
combination in which you are called to play a part. Your antecedents have placed 
you without the pale of the law.” 

“ But does not the end justify the means ? ” 

“ That may be your morality, but it will never be mine. I repudiate all commu- 
nity of ideas with men of your stamp.” 

The squatter darted a look at him laden with hatred and disappointment. 

“In serving us,” Don Miguel continued, “ you can only have an interested object, 
which I will not take the trouble of guessing at. An Anglo-American will never 
frankly aid a Mexican to conquer his liberty. I therefore renounce for ever the pro- 
jects 1 had formed. I had, I grant, dreamed of restoring to my country the inde- 
pendence of which it was unjustly stripped ; but it shall remain a dream.” 

“ That is your last word ? ” 

“ The last.” 

“ Goo<l ; then I now know what is left me to do.” 

“ Well, what is it ? Let me hear,” the tiaciendero said as he crossed his arms on 
his breast. 

“ I hold your secret, and you are in my power.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Remember that however rich you may be, Don Miguel Zarate, and perhaps 
because of those very riches, and in spite of the kindness you sow broadcast, the 
number of your enemies is very considerable.** 


46 


'i he 7rail/Runter. 


1 


“ I know it.** 

“Very g- od. Those enemies will joyfully seize the first opportunity that presents 
itself to destroy you.” 

“ It is probable.” 

“You see, then. When T go to the governor and tell him you are conspiring, 
and hand him not only these letters, but several others written and signed by 
you, lying in that chest, do you believe that the governor will treat me as an im- 
postor ? *’ 

“Then you have letters in my handwriting? ” 

“I have three, which will be enough to have you shot; but, hang it all ! you 
understand that, in an affair so important as this, it is wise to take one’s precau- 
tions, for no one knows what may happen ; and men of my stamp,” he added with 
an ironical smile, “ have more reasons than others for being prudent.” 

“ Come, that is well played,” the haciendero said, “ and.I compliment you on it ; 
you are a better player than I gave you credit for.'* 

“ Oh ! you do not know me yet.” 

“ The little I do know suffices me.** 

“ Then ? ” 

“We will remain as we are, if you will permit me.** 

“ You still refuse ? ” 

“ More than ever.” 

“ Take care, Don Miguel,” muttered the squatter hoarsely, “ will do what X 
told you.” 

“ Yes, if I allow you the time,** 

“ Eh ? ” 

** Caspita ! if you are a clever scamp, I am not altogether a fool. Do you believe, 
in your turn, that I will let myself be intimidated by your threats, and that I should 
not find means to keep you from acting.” 

“ I am curious to know the means you will employ to obtain this result.” 

“ You shall see,’’ Don Miguel replied with perfect coolness. “ I shall kill you.’* 

“ Oh, oh ! ” the squatter «aid, as he looked complacently at his muscular limbs, 
“ that is not easy.” 

“ More so than you suppose, my master.” 

“ Hum ! and when do you reckon on killing me ? ** 

“ At once ! ” 

The two men were seated in front of the hearth, each at the end of a bench : the 
table was between them, but a little back, so that while talking they only leaned an 
elbow on it. While uttering the last word, Don Miguel bounded like a tiger on the 
squatter, who did not at all expect the attack, seized him by the throat, and hurled 
him to the ground. 

I'he Mexican’s attack had been so sudden an 1 well directed that the half- strangled 
squatter, in spite of his Herculean strength, could not free himself from his enemy’s 
iron clutch, which pressed his throat like a vice. Red Cedar could neither utter a 
cry n(*r offer the slightest resistance: the Mexican’s knee crushed his chest, while 
his fingers pressed into his throat. 

So soon as he had reduced the wretch to utter impotence, Don Miguel drew from 
his vaquera boot a long sharp knife, and buried the entire blade in his body. The 
bandit writhed convulsively for a few seconds ; a livid pallor suffused his face ; his 
eyes closed, and he then remained motionless. Don Miguel lett the weapon in the 
wound, and slowly rose. 

“ Ah ! ah ! ” he muttered as he gazed at him, “ I fancy that rogue will not 
denounce me now.” 

Without loss of time he seized the letters lying on the table, look from the box 


The Sack fin of the Coras. 


*7 


the few documents he found in it, hid th?m all in his bosom, opened the door of the 
cabin, and went off with long strides. 

The squatter’s sons had not quitted their post. 

“ Well,” Shaw asked him, “ have you come to an understanding with the old 
man ? ” 

“ Yes, to our mutual satisfaction,” and the Mexican mounted his horse and 
put him to a trot, but at the first turn in the road he dug his spurs into its 
flanks and started at full speed. 

“ Now,” Sutter observed, ” I believe that we can proceeu to the cabin without 
inconvenience.” 

And they gently walked towards the jacal. 

Don Miguel, however, had not succeeded so fully as he imagined. Red Cedar was 
not dead. Attacked unawares, the squatter had not attempted a resistance, which 
he saw at the first glance was useless, and would only have exasperated his adver- 
sary. On feeling the knife-blade enter his body, he stiffened himself against the 
pain, and resolved on “ playing ’possum.” The success of his stratagem was com- 
plete. Don Miguel, persuaded that he had killed him, did not dream of repeating his 
thrust. 

So long as his enemy remained in the jacal the squatter was careful not to make 
the slightest movement that mignt have betrayed him ; but, so soon as he was alone, 
he opened his eyes, rose with an effort, drew the dagger from the wound, which 
emitted a jet of black blood, and looking at the door through which his assassin had 
departed with a glance so full of hatrel that is impossibU to describe, h« muttered— 

“ Now we are quits, Don Miguel Zarate, since you have tried to take back 
the life of him you saved. Pray God never to bring us face to face again. 

He uttered a deep sigh, and rolled heavily on the ground in a fainting fit. At this 
moment his s ms entered the cabin. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SACHEM OF THE CORA*. 

A FEW days after the events described in the previous chapter there was one of 
those Ifively mornings which arc not accorded to our cold climates. In a clump of 
flowering orange and lemon trees, whose sweet exhalations perfumed the air, and 
beneath a copse of cactus, nopals, and aloes, a m licien was asleep, carelessly 
reclining in a hammock made of the thread of the Pkormium tenaXf which hung 
between two orange trees. 

With her head thrown back, her long black hair unfastened, and falling in dis- 
order on her neck and bosom ; with her coral lips slightly parted, and di -playing the 
dazzling pearl of her teeth, Dona Clara was really cnarming. 

It was nearly mid-nay ; there was not a breath in the air. The heat was so 
stifling and insupportable, that every one in the hacienda had yielded to sleep, and was 
enjoying what is generally called in hot countries the siesta. ' till, at a short distance 
from the spot where Dona Clara reposed, calm and smiling, a sound of footsteps, at 
first almost imperceptible, but gradually heightening, was heard, and a man made 
his appearance. It was Shaw, the youngest of the squatter’s sons. 

The young man was panting, and the perspiration poured down his cheeks. On 
reaching the entrance of the clump he bent an anxious glance on the hammock. 

“ She is there,” he murmured. “ She sleeps.” 

Then he fell on his knees upon the sand, and began admiring the maiden. 


28 


The Trail- Hunter. 


At length he uttered a sigh, and rose sadly, muttering in a whisper.— 

“ I vno'it. go — if she were to wake — oh, she will never know how much I 
love b ^r 

He plucked an orange flower, and softly laid it on the maiden ! then he walked 
away a few steps, but almost immediately returning, he seized, with a nerv(;us hand, 
i')ona Clara’s reboxo, which hung down from the hammock, and pressed it to his 
' ips several times, saying, in a voice broken by the emoiion he felt, — 

“ It has touched her hair.” 

And rushing from the thicket, he crossed the garden and disappeared. He had 
iieard footsteps approaching. In fact, a few seconds after his departure, Don Miguel, 
in his turn, entered the copse. 

“ Come, come,” he said gaily, as he shook the hammock, “ sleeper, will you not 
hare finished your siesta soon ? ” 

“ I am no longer asleep, father,” said Dona Clara. 

” Very gi od. That is the answer 1 like.” 

And he stepped forward to kiss her; but with a sudden movement, the maiden 
drew herself back as if she had seen some fearful vision. 

” What is the matter with you } ” the haciendero exclaimed with terror. 

“ The girl showed him the orange flower. 

“ Well,” said her father, ” what is there so terrific in that flower? It must have 
fallen from the tree. 

Dona Clara shook her head sadly, 

” No,” she said : ” for some days past I have always noticed, on waking, a 
similar flower,” 

“ You are absurd to frighten yourself thus about a trifle. Besides, w’hy not take 
your siesta in your bedroom instead of burying yourself in this thicket? ’’ 

” I will follow your advice in future,” the girl said. 

” Come, that is settled, so say no more abouc it. Now give me a kiss.” 

The maiden threw herself into her father’s arms. Both sat down on a grassy 
mound, and commenced one of those delicious chits-chats whose charm on.y those 
who are parents can properly appreciate. Piesently a peon came up. 

“ What has brought you ? ’’ Don Miguel asked. 

” Excellency,” the peon answered, “ a red-skin warrior has just arrived at the 
hacienoa. 

“ Do you know him ? ” Don Miguel asked. 

” Yes, Excellency; it is Eaglewing, the sachem of the Coras of the Rio San Pedro. 

‘‘Flying Eagle!” the hacicndeio cried, “What can have brought him to me? 
Lead him here.” 

The peon retired, and in a few minutes returned, preceding Flying Eagle. 

The chief had donned the great war- ;ress of tnc sacnems ot his nation. His 
hair, plaited with the skin of a rattle-snake, was drawn up on the top of his head : 
in the centre an eagle plume was affixed. A blouse of striped calico, adorned with 
a profusion of bells, descended to his thighs, which were defended from the stings of 
mosquitos by drawers ot the same stuff. He wore mocassins made of peccari skin 
adorned with glass beads and porcupine quills. To his heels were fastened several 
wolves’ tails, the distinguishing mark of renowned warriors. Round his loins was 
a belt of elk hide, through which passed his knife, his pipe, and his medicine boo-. 
Hs neck was adorned by a collar of grizzly bear 'daws and buffalo teeth. Finallv 
a magnificent robe of white female buffalo hide, painted red inside, was ia.stcned to 
his shoulders, and fell down behind him like a cloak. In fiis right band lie held a 
fan formed ot a single eagle’s wing, and in his left hand an American rifle. 'Fhcre 
was something imposing and singularly martial in the appearance and demeanour 
of this savage child of the forest. 


59 


The Sachem of ihc Coras. 


On cnterinjr the thicket he bowed gracefully to Dona Clara, and then stood 
motion ess before Don Miguel. 

“ My brotticr is welcome,” the haciendero said. “ To what do I owe the pleasure 
of seeing him ? ” 

The chief cast a side glance at the maiden, who at once withdrew. 

“ My brother cm speak,” the hacieiukro then said ; the ears of a fiif-nd are open.” 
“ Y es, my father is good,” the chief leplied. Unhappily all the pale-faces do not 
rcsomble him.” 

” VVt;at does mv br ther mean ? Has he cause to complain of any one ? ” 

Ti c Indian smiled sadly. 

” Where is there justice for the red-skins ? ” he said. The great Sjurit has ni.t 
given them a soul, and it is not a crime to kill them ” 

“ Come, chiet. pray do not longer speak in riddles, but explain why you have 
qni ted your tiibe ” 

“ Mookapec is alone ; I is tribe no longer exists.” 

” How ? ” 

“'I he pale-faces came in the night, like jaguars without courage. They burned 
the village, and massacred all the inhaoiiauts, even to the women and little 
children. 

“Oh, that is frightful! ” the haciendero murmured. 

Ah 1 ’’ the chief continued with aix accent full of tenible irony, “ the scalps of 
the red-skins arc sold dearl).” 

** And do you know the men who committed this atrocious crime ?” 

“ Mi okapec knows them, and will avenge himself.” 

“Tell me tiicir chief, if yju know his name.” 

“ I know it. The pa e-faces call him Red Cedar, the Indians the Man-catcr.** 

“ Oh ! as for him, chief, you are avenged, for he is dead.” 

“ My fatiier is mistaken.’’ 

“ How so? VViiy, 1 killed him myself.” 

The ladian shook I'is head. 

“ Red Cedar has a haid life,” he said: “ the blade of the knife my’ father used was 
too short. Red Cedar is wounded, but in a few days he will be auuut again, ready 
to kill and scalp the Indians.’’ 

“ Tnis news startled the haciendero ; the enemy he fancied he had got rid of still 
lived, and he would have to begin a fiesh sfrngole. 

“ ^ly father must take care,” the chief comiaued. “ Red Cedar has sworn to be 
avenged.” 

“ On I This man is a demon, of whom the earth must be purged at all hazards, 
before his strength has returned.” 

“ I will aid my father in his vengeance.” 

“ Thanks, chief. 1 do not refuse your offer. And now, what do you purpose 
doing ? ” 

“ Eaglewing will retire to the desert. He has friends among the Comanches. 
They will welcome him gl?dly.’’ 

“1 will not strive to combat your determination, chief, for it is just; and if, at a 
later date, you take terrible reprisals on the white men, they will have no can^e of 
complaint, for they have brought it on themselves. Wnen docs my brother start? ” 
“ At sunset.” 

“ Rest here to-day ; to-morrow will be soon enough to set out," 

*• Mookapec must depart this day.” 

“ Act as you think proper. Have you a horse ? ” 

“No; but at the first manada I come to 1 will lasso one,” 

“ 1 will give you a horse.” 


Tke Trail- Hunter. 


SO 


• Thanks ; my father is good. The Indian chief will remember ; but I have 
Still a few words to say to my father.” 

** Speak, chief ; I am listening to you,” 

** Koutonepi, the pale hunter, begged me to say that a great danger threatens my 
father. Koutonepi wishes to see him as soon as possible, m order himsc.f to tell 
him its nature.” 

” Good ! My brother will tell the hunter that I shall be to-morrow at the ‘ clearing 
of the shattered oak,’ and await him tliere till night.” 

” I will faithfully repeat my lather’s words to the hunter.” 

The two men then quitted the garden, and hurriedly proceeded toward the 
hacienda. 

After embracing his son and daughter, Don Miguel proceeded to the patio, where 
in the meanwhile, the chief had been amusing himself by making the magnificent 
horse he had chosen curvet. Don Miguel admired for several moments the Indian’s 
skill and graee, for he managed a horse as well as the first M.x can gincte; then 
mounted, and the two men proceeded together toward the Paso del Noite, wnkh they 
must cross in order to enter the desert, and reach the clearing of the shatter-d oak. 

The journey passed in silence, for the two men were deeply reflecting. At tlie 
moment they entered Paso the sun was setting on the horizon in a bed of red mist, 
which foreboded a storm for the night. At the entrance of the village they separate ! ; 
and on the morrow, .-IS we have seen in our first chapter, Don Miguel set out a: 
daybreak, and galloped to the clearing. 


CHAPTER IX. 

CONVERSATIOH, 

Valentiki Guillois, whom we have already introduced to the reader in previous 
works, bad traversed the vast solitudes of Mexico and Texas during the past five or 
six years. We saw him just now accompanied by the Araucano chief. They were 
the boldest hunters on the frontier. At times, when they had collected an ample 
harvest of furs, they went to sell them in the villages, renewed their stock of powder 
and ball, putchased a few indispensable articles, and then returned to the desert. 

Now and then they engaged themselves for a week, or even a fortnight, with the 
proprietois of the haciendas, to free them from the wild beasts that desolated their 
herds ; but so soon as the ferocious animals were destroyed, and the reward obtained, 
no matter the brilliancy ot the offers made them by the land-owners, the two men 
threw their rifles on their shoulders and went off. 

The deeds of every description performed by these hunters were incalculable, and 
their stories were the delight of the frontier dwellers during the winter night. Tnc 
number of tigers they had killed was no longer counted. 

Chance had one day made them acquainted with Don Miguel Zarate under 
strange circumstances, and since then an uninterrupted friendsnip bad been m ain- 
t.^ined between them. Don Miguel, during a tempestuous night, had owed his life 
to the accuracy of Valentine’s aim, who sent a bullet through the head of the 
Mexican’s horse at a moment when, mad with terror, and no longer obeying the 
bridle, it was on the point of leaping into an abyss with its master. Dori Mtgue! 
had sworn eternal gratitude to his saviour. 

Valentine and Curumilla had made ther^sclvcs the tutors of the haciendero’s 
children, who, for their part, felt a deep fricndsl ip for the hunters. Don Pablo had 
frequently made long hunting panics in the de^trt with th^m ; and it was to them 


ConiU‘rsution, 


31 


that he owed the certainty of his aim, his skill in handling weapons, and his knack 
in taming hoises. 

Frequently Don Miguel, impelled, not by curiosity, but merely by the interest hf 
felt in them, had tried, by words cle\erly thrown into the conversation, to give then? 
an opening for confidence ; but Valentine had always repelled these hints, though 
cleveriv enough for Don Miguel no: to feel offcaded by this want of confidence. 
With Curumilla they had been even more simple. Wrapped in his Indian stoicism, 
intiencned in his habitual sullenness, he was wont to answer all questions by a 
shake of the head, but nothing further. 

'I'he hunter and the Mexican were seated by the fire, while Curumilla, armed 
with his scalping-knife, was busily flaying the two jaguars. 

“ Eh, compadre ! ” Don Miguel said with a laugh ; “ I was beginning to lose 
patience, and fancy you had forgotten tlie meeting you had yourself given me.” 

“I never forget anytning,” Valentine answered seriously; “and if 1 did not 
axiive sooner, it was because the road is lotrg from my jacal.” 

“ Heaven forbid that I should reproach you, my friend! Still I confess to you 
that the prospect of passing the niglit alone in this forest only slightly pleased me, 
and 1 should have been oft' had you not airived before sunset.” 

“ Y ou would have done wrong, Don Mi uel : what I have to tell you is of the 
utmost importance to you. Wno knows what the result might have been had 1 not 
been able to warn you? ” 

You alarm me, my friend.” 

“ 1 will explain. In the first place let me tell you that you committed, a few days 
back, a grave imprudence.” • 

“ I am waiting till you think proper to express yourself ntorc clearly,’* Don 
Miguel said, with a slight tinge of impatience, “ before I answer.” 

“ You have quarrelled with a North American bandit.” 

Red Cedar.” 

“ Yes ; a id when you had him in your powe~ yon let him escape, instead of kill- 
ing him qut and out.” 

•• That is true, and 1 was wrong. What would you ? The villain has as tough 
a life as an alligator. But be at ease. If ever tie fall into my hands again, I 
swear that 1 will not miss him.” 

“This man is one of those villains, the scum of the United Stares, too many of 
whom have lived on the fiontier duiiu^ the last few years. I do not know how he 
contiived to deceive vour New York a ent; but lie gained his confidence so cleverly 
that the latter told him all ids secrets.” 

“ He told me so himself.” 

“ Very good, it was then, I suppose, that you stabbed him ? ** 

“ Y es, and at the same time I seized the letters he held, and which might com- 
promise me.” 

A mistake. This man is too thorough -paced a scoundrel not to foresee all the 
chances of his treason. He had a last letter, the most important of all.” 

“ 1 took fhre 

” Yes, but there were four. As thtf last, however, in itself was worth as much as 
the other three, he always wore it in a leathern bag hung round his neck by a steel 
cliain : you did not dream of looking for that.” 

But wnat importance can this letter, 1 do not even remember writing, possess?” 

“ It is meiely the agreement drawn up between yourself, General Ibanez, and 
Mr. Wood.” 

“ Con mil demonios! ” the haciendero exclaimed in terror. ”In that case 1 an 
lost.” 

“ Nothing is lost so long as life exists.’* 


32 


The Trail -Hunter. 


** What is to be done ? ” 

Rc'^ Ce 'ar has been about a;^ain for two days. His first care was to go to 
Santa Fe, tnc capital (»t New jMexico, and denounce you lo the governor. 

•* Then 1 can only fly as speedily as I can ? ” 

“ VV,iit. Every man has in his heait at least one of the seven deadly sins as a 
bait for the demon. Fortunately lor us, Red Cedar has them all seven, I believe, in 
the finest stage of development, avarice, i efore all. Ttiis man dcrumnced you to 
the go\ernor as a conspirator, &c., but was careful not to give up the pioots. When 
General Isturitz, the governor, asked him for his proofs, he answered that he was 
ready to supply them in exchange for tne sum of one hundred tnousand piastres in 
gold.” 

” Ahl” the haciendero said with a breath of relief, “and what did Isturitz 
say ? ” 

“ The general is one of your most inveterate enemies, and would give a good 
deal for the pleasure of having you shot ; but still the sum appeared to him 
cxorlhtant, the more so as he would have to pay it all himselt.” 

” Well, what did Red Cedar do then ? “ 

“He did not allow himself beaten ; on the contrary, he told the general he would 
give him a week to reflect ” 

“ Hum ! and on what day was this visit paid ?” 

“ Yesterday morning ; so tiiat you have SiX days left.*’ 

“ Six davs — that is v.ry little.” 

“Eh?” the Ficnchmau said with a shrug of his shoulders. “In my country 



■ • 

“Yes, but you are Frenchmen.” 

*' That is true : hence 1 allow you twice the time we should require. Come, let 
us put joking aside. You are a man of more than common eneigv ; you really 
wi''h the wciraieof your country, so do not let y.)i)rs It be crusneJ by the fiist 
reverse. W ho kiiov s but that it may all be for the best ? ” 

“Ah, mv hiend, I am alone! General Ibanez, who alone could help me in this 
critical aftair, i-> fifty leagues oft'. Wnat c;iu I do? Nothing.” 

“ All. I (ortsaw your objection. Eaglewing, the Cnief of the Coras, has gone 
from me to warn the general. You know wim what speed Indians travel; so he 
will hr ng us ti e general in a few hours.” 

“You have done that, my fiieiul? ” said Don Miguel. 

“ by Jove ! ” Valentine said gaily, “ 1 have done something else too. When the 
time arrives I will tell you what it is. What do you intend to do tor the present? ” 

“ I must first come to an understanding with the general.” 

“That is true; but it is the least thing,” Valentine answered as he looked sky- 
ward, and attentively consulted the position of the stars. “ It is now eight o’ciocc. 
Eagle-wing and the man ne brings must be at midnight at the entrance of the 
Cau'm del Buitve. We have four hours before us, and that is more than we 
require.” 

“ Let us go, let us go ! ” Don Miguel exclaimed ca;crly. 

“Wait a moo.cnt; tlieie is no such hurry. Don’t be alarmed ; we shall arrive 
la t^rae.” 

He torn turned to Curutnilla, and said to him in y'raucano a few words which 
the haci-ndcro did not understand. The Indian rose without replying, and dis- 
appeared in the density cf trie forest. 

“You k:iO\v,” Valentine coiuinued, “ that I prefer, through habit, tr.avelling on 
foot; stiii, as under present circumstances miuuics are precious, and we aiust not 
lo-se them, I i.ave provideil two houses.” 

“ You think of everything, my friend.** 


The Wine Shop, 


53 


“ Yes, when I have to act for those I love,” Valentine answered with a retrospec- 
tive si;^h. 

As he spoke the branches parted, and Cuiuitiilla re-entered the clearingr, holding 
two horses by the bridle. These n ible animals, wnich were nearly untamed mustangs, 
were literally nrvered with eagle plumes, beads, and ribbons, while long red and white 
spelts completed their disguise, and rendered it almost impossible to recognise them. 

“ Mount !” Don Miguel exclaimed so soon as he saw them. “Time is slij. ping away.” 

“One word yet.” Valeniine remarked. “You still have as chaplain a certain 
monk of the name of Fray .Ambrosio? Beware of that man — he betrays you.” 

“Good! I Will remember.” 

“ All right. Nvj’.v we wili be off,” Valentine said, as he buried his spurs in his 
horse’s flanks. 

And the liirce horsemen rushed into the darkness with headlong speed. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE WINE SHOP. 

Towards nightfall of the next day, the inhabitants of the village of Paso del Norte, 
whom the inti^lcrahle heat of the trop cal sun had kept prisoners in the interior of 
the houses, flocked out to inhale the sharp perfumes of the desert breeze, and bring 
back a little fresh air into their parched lungs. The town, which had for several 
hours appeared deserted, suddenly woke up : shouts an 1 laughter were heard afresh. 
The w’alks were invaded by the mob. and in a few minutes the wine shops were 
thronged with idlers, who began drinking pulque and mezeal, whde smoking their 
cigarettes, and strumming the jarab^ and vihuela. 

In a house of pior appearance, built, like all its neighbours, of earth bricks, and 
situated at the angle formed by the Plaza Mayor and the Calle de la Merced, some 
twenty-five fellows, whom it was easy to recognise as adventurers by the feather in 
their hats, their upturned moustaches, and specially by the long bronzed-hilted sword 
they wore on the thigh, were drinking torrents of aguardiente and pulque at the 
gambling tables, while yelling like deaf men, swearing like pagans, and threatening 
at every moment to unsheath their weapons. 

In a corner of the room occupied by these troublesome guests, two men, seated 
opposite each either, at a table, seemed plunged in deep thought, and looked round them 
absently. 'These two men presented the most striking contrast. They were still 
young. The first, aged twenty-five at tfie most, had one of those frank, honest, and 
energetic faces which call for sympathy and attract respect. His palid brow, his 
face of a delicate hue, surrounded by his long black curls, his straight and flexible 
nose, his mouth filled with a double row of teeth of dazzling whiteness, a id sur- 
mou ted by a slight brown moustache, gave him a stamp of distinction, which was 
the more striking owing to the common style of his attire. 

He wore the costume of the wood-rangers; that is to say, the Canadian mitasse, 
fastened round the hips, and descending to the ancle; bntas vaqueras of deer skin, 
fa.''tened at the knee ; and a striped zarepe of brilliant colours. A Panama straw 
hat was thrown on the talile, within reach of 1 is band, by the side of an American 
rifle and two double-barrelled pistols. A macfitte hung on his left side, and the hilt 
of a long knife pe eped out of his left boot. 

His c >mpanion was short and thick-set; but his well-knit limbs and his out- 
•tanding muscles indicated no ordinary strength. His face, the features of which 
were common-place enough, had a cunning look, which suddenly disappeared to 

c 


u 


The Trail- Hunter, 


make room for a certain nobility whenever under the influence of any sudden 
emotion ; his eyt-brows contracted ; and his glance, ordinarily veiled, flashed forth. 
He wore nearly the same oarb as his comrade; but his hat, stained with ram, and 
the colours of his zaiap6 faded by the sun, evidenced lengthened wear. Like the 
fiist one we described, he was well armed. 

Boih were Canadians. 

“ Hum ! ” the lust said. “After due consideration, Harry, I believe we shall do 
better by mounting our horses and starting, instead of remaining in this horrible 
den, amid these gachupives, who croak like frogs before a storm.’’ 

“Deuce take your impatience!” the aher replied ill-temperedly. ‘‘Can’t you 
remain a moment at rest ? ” 

“ Why, we have been here an hour.” 

“By Jove! Dick, you’re a wonderful fellow,” the other continued with a laugh. 
“ Do you think that business can be settled all in a moment ? ” 

“ After all, what is our game ? For five years we have hunted and slept side by 
side. We have come from Canada together to this place. 1 have got into a habit 
of referring to you cvtrytnmg that concerns our mutual interests. Still I should not 
be sorry to know, if only for the rarity ot the fact, why on earth we left the prairies, 
where we were so well off, to come here, white we are so badly off.” 

“ Have you ever repented, up to to-day, tne confidence you placed in me? 

“ I do not say so, Harry. Still I think ” 

“ You think wrong,” the young man sharply interrupted. “ Let me alone, and 
before three months you shall have three times your hat full of massive gold.” 

“ Oh, oh ! ” he said in a low voice, “ ft is a placer.” 

“ Hang it ! ” the other said, “ were it not, should 1 be here ? But silence, our man 
has come.” 

In fact, a man entered at this moment. On his appearance a sudden silence fell 
on the company ; the adventurers, gambling and cursing at all the tables, rose, respect- 
fully took off their plumed hats, and ranged themselves with downcast eyes to let 
him pass, 'i he man remained for an instant on the threshold of the venta, took a 
keen glance at the company, and then walked toward the two hunters. 

This man wore the gown of a monk; he had the ascetic face, with the harsh 
features and sharpiy-marked lines, that forms, as it were, the type of the Spanish 
monks. 

“ Continue your sports, my sons,” he said to the company; “ my presence need 
not disturb your frolics, for I only wish to speak for a few moments with these two 
gentlemen.” 

The adventurers did not let the invitarion be repeated, but took their places again 
tumultuously, and soon the cries and oaths recommenced with equal intensity. The 
monk smiled, took a butacca, and seated himself between the two hunters, while 
bending a searching glance on them. So soon as he had done so, Harry poured 
him out a large glass of pulque, and placed within his reach maize Ic^ and 
tobacco. 

“ Drink and smoke, senor padre,” he said to him. 

The monk without any observation, rolled a cigarette, emptied the glass of pulque 
at a draught, and then said, — 

“ Y ou are punctual.” 

“We have bien waiting an hour,” Dick observed. 

“ What IS an hour in the presence of eternity !” the monk said with a smile. 

“Let us not loose any more time,’’ Harry continued* “ Wnat have you to pro- 
pose to us ? ’’ 

The monk lowered his voice. 

“ 1 can, if you bke, m ike you rirh in a few days ” 


The Wine Shop, 


35 


•* What ’s the business ? ” Dick asked. 

** Of course,” the monk continued, “ this fortune I offer you is a matter of in- 
difference to me. If I have an ardent desire to obtain it, it is, in the first place, 
because it belongs to nobody, and will permit me to relieve the wretchedness of 
thousands ot beings.” 

‘‘ Of course, senor padre,” Harry answered seriously. ” According to what you 
told me a few days back, you have discovered a rich placer.” 

“Not I,” the monk sharply objected. 

No consequence, provided that it exists,” Dick answered. 

” Pardon me, but ii is of great consequence to me. 1 do not wish to take on my» 
;elf the responsibility of such a discovery.” 

“ Very good : you only desire to profit by it.” 

“ Not for myself.” 

” For your parishioners. Very good; but let us try to come to an understanding, 
it possible. 

” ralga me Dois / the monk saul, crossing him'^elf, “ how you have retained 
the impetuosity of your French origin ! Have a little patictice, and 1 will explain 

myself. But you will promise me ” 

Nothing,” Dick interrupted. “ We are honest hunters, and not accustomed to 
pledge ourselves so lightly before knowing positively what is asked of us.” 

Harry supported his friend’s words by a nod. 

“Your will be done,” then said he. ” You are terrible men; but the explanation 
is easy. Some time ago a wandering gambusino discovered the richest placer on 
this continent. It is situated in a wild district, and could only be worked by a large 
armed party. To organise this he came to Paso, and, getting into a drunken brawl, 
was killed. I was with him in his last moments, and to me he revealed the secret, 
giving me a rude map of the locality. Now you understand.” 

” Yes,” said Harry, ” but why, instead of first applying to your countrymen, do 
you propose the scheme to us ? ” 

Because Mexicans cannot be trusted, and before reaching the placer we should 
have to fight the Apaches and Comanenes.” 

All that is very fine,” said Dick ; ‘‘ but it is absurd to suppose that two men can 
attempt such an enterprise in unknown regions peop.ed by ferocious tribes. It would 
require at least fifty.” 

“You are right, and hence I did not calculate on you alone. You will have 
determined men under your orders.” 

“Unluckily you are mistaken, senor padre,” Harry said peremptorily. “ Wc arc 
honest hunters ; but the trade of a gambusino does not at all suit us. Even if we 
had a chance of gaining an incalculable fortune, we would not consent to take part 
in an expedition of gold seekers.” 

“ Not even if Red Cedar consented to take the direction ? ” the monk said in a 
honeyed voice. 

Tne hunter started, a feverish blush suffused his face, and it was in a voice choked 
by emotion that he exclaimed, — 

“ Have you spoken with him about it? ” 

“ Here be is; you can ask him,” the monk answered. 

In fact Red Cedar was entering the place at this moment. He was more than 
s X feel in height; his enormous head was fastened to his square shoulders by a 
shoit and muscular neck, like a bull’s; his bony members were covered with muscles 
hard as ropes. 

A fox-skin cap, pressed down on his head, allowed escape to a few tufts of coarse 
grayish hair, and fell on his little gray eyes, which were close to a nose that was 
hooked like the beak of a bird of prey ; his wide mouth was filled with white, large 


71it: Trail- Hunter. 




teeth ; his cheek bones were prominent and purpled ; and the lower part of his f^ce 
disappeareil in a thick black beard, mingled with gray hairs. He wore a hunting 
shirt of stiipeil calico, ta-^tened round the waist by a snap of brown lea’her, through 
which were passed two pistols, an axe, and a long knife; a pa;r of leggings of 
tawny leather, sewed at equal distances with hair, fell down to h s knees ; winle his 
legs were protected by Indian mocassins, ornamented with a profus on of beads and 
bells. A game-bag of fawn-skin, which seemeil full, fell over his right hip ; and 
he held in his hand an American rifle, studded witli copper nails. 

The entry of Red Cedar was significant ; the otfierwise unscrupulous men who 
filled thevciita hutriedly ntiied on fiis approach, and male room for him with zeal 
mingled with disgust. 'I'he old partisan crossed the room with head erect ; a smile 
of haughty disdain played round his tliin lips at the s ght of the effect his presence 
produced, and he went up to the monk and l.is two companions. On reaching thtm 
he roughly placed the butt of his rifle on the ground, leaned his two crossed hands 
upon the bairel, and after bemling a cunning glance on the persons before him, said 
to the monk in a hoarse voice, — 

“The deuce take you, senor padre! Here I am ; what do you want with me? ” 

“You are welcome. Red Cedar,” replied tiic monk ; “ we were expecting you. Sit 
down, and we will talk while drinking a glass of pulque.” 

“The deuce twist your neck, an ^ may your accurse*' pulque choke you! Do you 
take me for a wietched abort on?” the other answered as he fell into tlie seat offered 
him. “ Order me some brandy. 1 am not a babe, I suppose.” 

Without making the slightest obseivation, the monk rose, and presently returned 
with a bottle, from wfiich he poured a bumper for the old hunter. 'I’tie latter emptied 
the glass at a draught, put i back »n the table with a sonorous “hum!” and 
turned to the monk with a grimacing smile. 

“Come, the devd is not always so black as he is painted, senor padre,” he said. 
“I see that we can come to an undei standing.” 

“ It will only depi nd on you. Red Cedar. Here are two worthy Canadian hunters 
who will do nothing without your support.” 

Tne Hercules took a side glance at the young men. 

“ Eh ! ” he said, * what do \ou want with these children ? Did I not promise you 
to reach the placer with my sons only ? ” 

“ He, he! you are powerfully built, but I doubt whether four men were they twice 
as strong as you are, could carry out this affair successfully. You will have nume- 
rous enemies to combat.” 

“ All the better ! The more there are, the more we shall kill,” he answered with a 
sinister laugh. 

“ Senor padre,” Dick interrupted, “ as far as I am concerned, I care little about it.” 

But he was suddenly checked by a meaning glance from his mate. 

“ What do you care little about, my pretty lad ? ” the giant asked in a mocking 

voice. 

“ Nothing,” the young man answered drilv. “ Suppose I had not spoken.” 

“Good,” Red Cedar remarked ; “ it shall be as you wish. Hire’s your health.” 

“Come,” said Harry, “ let us have but few words. Explain yourself once for all, 
without beating about the bush, senor padre.” 

“ Yes,” Red Cedar observed, “ men oug.it not to waste their time thus in chat- 
tering.” 

“Very good. This, then, is what I propose. Red Cedar w 11 collect within three 
days from this time thirty resolute men, of wtiom he will take the command, and 
wc will start immediately in search of the placer.” 

“ Hum! ” Red Cedar said. “ In order to go in search of the placer, wc must 
know a little in what direct'on it is, or deuce take me if I undertake the business,” 


The Wine Shop, 


37 


“Do not trouble yourseb about that, Red Cedar; I will accompany you. Have 
I not a plan of the country ? ” 

The colossus shot at the monk a glance which sparkled under his dark eye- 
lash. 

“ That is true,” he said with feigned indifference; " I forgot that you were coming 
with us. Then you will Uavc your parishioners during your absence.^ '* 

“ Heaven will w'atch over them.” 

“ En ! it will have its woiU cut out. But why did you oblige me to come to this 
place ? ” 

“ In order to introduce you to these two hunters, who will accompany us.” 

“ I beg your pardon.” Dick observed, “ but I do not exactly sec of what use I can 
be to you in all this.” 

“ On the contrary,” the monk answered quickly, “ I reckon entirely on you.” 

The giant had risen. 

“ What ! ” he said, “you do not understand that this honourable personage, who 
did not hesitate to kill a man in order to rob him of the secret of the placer, has a 
terrible fear of finding himself alone with me on the praiiie ? He fears that 1 shall 
kill him in my turn. Ha, ha, ha !” 

And he turne 1 his back unccreinoniously, 

“ How can you suppose such things, Red Cedar ? ” the monk exclaimed. 

“Do you fancy that I did not read your hcait?” the latter answered. “But 
it is all the same to me. Do as you please : 1 leave you at liberty to act as you 
like.” 

“ What f you are off already ? ” 

“ Hang it! what have I to do any longer here? All is settled between us. Itt 
three days thirty of the best frontier men will be assembled by my care at Grizzly 
Bear Creek, where we shall expect you.” 

After shrugging his shoulders once again., he went off without any salute, or even 
turning his bend. 

“It must be confessed,” Dick observed, “that the man has a most villanous 
•ace.” 

Oh ! ” the monk answered with a sigh, “the exterior is nothing. You should 
know the inner man.” 

“ Why, in that case, do you have any dealings with him ? ” 

‘ Because it must be so,” the monk, mattered. 

“All right for you,” Dick coitinued, “but as nothing obliges my friend 
and myself to have any more iiutmate relations with that man, you must not 
min ' ” 

“ Hush, Dick I ■’ said Harrv. “You do not know what you are talking about. 
We will accompany vou, senor padre. You can reckon on us to defend you if 
necessary, for I suppose that Red Cedar is right.” 

“ In what way ? ” 

“ You do not wish to trust your life defencc’.essly in his hands, and you reckoned 
on us to protect you.’’ 

“ Wrty should i feign any longer Yes, that man terrifies me.” 

“ Do not be alarmed ; we shail be there, and on our word as hunters, not a haU 
of your head shail tall.” 

“Thanks,” said the m. nk warmly. 

Hany’s conduct appeared so extraordinary to Dick, that, without striving tc 
fathom tne mi-iives \\'hich made him act tnus, he contented him.self by backing uj 
hiS words by an affirmative nod of the head 

“ Be assured, caballcros, that when wc have reached the placer, 1 wUl give you • 
large share.” 


38 


The 2'ruil-Huiiter, 


** The money question has but slight interest with us,” Harry answered. ” My 
friond and I are free hunters, caring very little for riches, which would be to us 
lather a souice of embarrassment than of pleasure and enjoyment. Curiosity alone, 
and the desire of exploiing strange countiies, are sufficient to make us undertake 
this journey.’’ 

” Thanks, gentlemen ; I will not keep you longer. I know where to find you 
when I want you.” 

’I’he you; g men took up their hats, slung their rifles on their shoulders, and left 
the wine shop. The monk looked after them. 

“ Oh 1 ” he muitercd, “ I believe 1 can trust to those men: they have still in ihei 
veins a few drops of that honest French blood which despises treachery.” 

After this aside he lose and looked around him. After a moment’s reflection 
the monk boldly struck the table with his clenched fist, and shouted in a loud 
voice — 

“ Senorcs Caballeros, I invite you to listen to me. I have, I fancy, an advan- 
ta'i^eous proposal to make to you.” 

The company turned their heads ; thi se who were gambling for a moment aban- 
doned their cards and dice; the drinkers alone kept in tlieir hands the glasses they 
held. 

Caballeros,” he continued, “if I am not mistaken, all present are gentlemen 
whom fortune has more or less ill-treated.” 

The adventurers bowed their heads in affirmation. 

” If you wish it,” he continued, with an imperceptible smile, “ I will undertake to 
repair the wrongs she has done you.” 

” Speak, speak, senor padre ! " the adventurers shouted with delight, “ What is 
the atiair ? ” 

“ A war-party which I intend to lead shortly into Apacheria,” the monk said. 

At this proposition the first ardour of the adventurers visibly cooled down. The 
Apaches and Comanches inspire an invincible terror in the inhabitants of the .Mexican 
frontiers. The monk guessed the effect he had produced ; but he continued — 

“ I take you all into my service for a month, at the rate of four piastres a day.” 

At this offer the eyes of the adventurers sparkled with greed, fear gave way to 
avarice, an i they exclaimed — 

“ We accept, reverend father ! * 

“ But,” one man continued, “ we shall be happy, senor padre, if, before starting, 
you would give us your holy benediction, and absolve us from the few sins we may 
have committed.” 

” Well, be It so,” he answered, after a few moment’s reflection. “ As the work in 
which I am about to employ you is so merit rious, 1 will give you my blessing, and 
grant you absolution of your sins.” 

For a few minutes there was a chorus of shouts and exclamations of joy in the 
room. The monk demanded silence, and when it was restored he said — 

‘‘Now, Caballeros, give me each your name, that I may find you when I need 
you.” 

He sat down, and began enrolling the adventuiers. We will leave the monk for ? 
few moments, and follow tiie two Canadian hunters. 


CHAPTER XI, 


The two HUNTERS. 

Harrt and Dick, whom we saw seated at a table in the wine shop with Red Cedai' 
and Fray Ambrusio, were, however, very far from resembling those t^o men morallye 
Thev were free and bold hunters, who had spent the greater part of their life in the 
desert, and who, in ttie vast solitudes of the prairie, had accustomed themselves to a 
life free and exempt from those vices which so often accompany a town resi lence. 

'I'hey had scarce quitted the place ere Dick said, looking at his friend curiously — 

** We have been hunting together for five years, Harry, and up to the present I 
have ever let myself be guided by you. Stid this evening your conduct has appeared 
to me so extraordinary that I am obliged to ask you for an explanation of what has 
occurred.” 

“ For what good, my boy? Do you not know me well enough to be certain that 
I would not consent to any dishonourable deed? ” 

“Up to this evening I would have sworn it, Harry* yes, on my honour I would 
have sworn it ” 

“ And now ? ” the young man asked. 

“ Now,” Dick answered, with a certain decree of hesitation, ** hang it all ! I will 
be frank with you, Harry as an honest hunter should ever be. Now I do not know 
if I should do so.” 

“ What you say there causes me great pain, Dick. Y ou oblige me, in order to 
dissipato your unjust suspicions, to confide to you a secret which is not my own.” 

“ Pardon me, Harry, but in my place I am convinced you would act as I am 
doing.” 

” I will do what you ask, Dick, w'hatever it may cost me. I recognise the justice 
of your observations. 1 understand how much my conduct this night must h?vc 
appeared ambiguous. I do not wish the slightest cloud to arise between us. You 
■hall be satisfied.” 

‘‘ I thank you Harry. I confess that T should have been in desoair to think badly 
of you ; but the words of that intriguing monk, and the manners of his worthy 
acolyte. Red Cedar, put me in a passion. Had you not warned me so quickly to 
silence, I believe that I should have ended by telling them a piece of mv mind.” 

” You displayed considerable prudence in keeping silence. You shall soon under- 
stand all, and I feel assured you will completely approve me.” 

” I do not doubt it, Harry; and now I feel certain 1 deceived myself. I feel jolly 
again.” 

While speaking thus the two hunters had crossed the village, and found themselves 
already far in the plain. Tne night was magnificent. 'Phe moon spread its 
silvery rays profusely over the landscape. The sharp odour of the flowers perfumed 
the atmosphere. 

” Where are we going now, Harry ? ” Dick asked. I fancy we should do better 
by taking a few hours* rest, instead of fatiguing ourselves without any definite 
objec^” 

” I never do anything without a reason, friend, as you know, ’ Harry answered ; 
“ so let me guide you,” 

Do as you think proper, mv boy.” 

“ In the first place you must know that the French hunter, Koutonepi, has begged 
me to watch Fra Ambrosio. That is one of the motives which made me be present 
at this night’s interview.” 


40 


Ttie Ticil-Iliinter, 


** Kouronepi is the first hunter on the frontier. You acted rightly, Marry, in doing 
what he asked.” 

“ for the second reason that dictated my conduct, Dick, you shall soon 
know it.” 

The da-knesswas profound in the forest : the density of the leafy dome under 
which they walked completely intercepted the light of the moonbeams. Still the Cana- 
dians, long accustomed to a nigtit march, advanced as easily through the chaos of 
creepers and trees tangled in each other as if they had been in open day. On reaching 
a spot where the trees, growing less closely together, formed a species of clearing, and 
allowed an uncertain and tremorous light to pass, Harry stopped, and made his com- 
rade a sijin to do the same. 

“ This is the place.” he said. Still, as the person I have come to see expects me 
to be alone, and your unexpected presence might cause aiat tn, hide yourself behind 
that laich tree.” 

“ Oil, oh : ” the hunter said with a laugh, “ have you pcrcivancc led me to a lore 
meeting, Harry ? ” 

You shall judge,” Harry replied laconically. 

Dick, greatly trouoled, did not need the invitarion to be repeated; he concealed 
himself behind the tree his friend had indicated, and which would liave sheltered a 
dozen men behind its enormous stem. So soon as Many w'as alone he laistd his fingers 
to his lips, and at three cifkrent iiiMvais imitated the cry of an owi with such peifectiou 
that Dick himselr was deceived, and mechanically h oked up to seek the bird in the 
tall branches of the tree by which he stood. Almost immediately a slight noise was 
audible in the shrubs, ami a graceful and white form appeared in the glade. It was 
Ellen, who rapidly w’alked towaid the young man. 

Oh, it is you, Many ! ” she said with joy. ” Heaven be blcs'^cd 1 but you are 
ate.” 

” It is true, Ellen : pardon me. It is not my fault that I did not ariivc sooner.” 

” How good you aie, Harry, to take so much trouble for my sak'' I ” 

“ Oh ! do not speak of it 1 it is a happiness for me to do anyti.ing agreeable to 
you.” 

” Alas ! ” the maiden murmured, Heaven is my witness that I feel a deep friend- 
ship for you, Harry.” 

” I have done wnat you asked of me,” said the young man. 

” Then it is true that mv fatner is tinnking about leaving this country to go further 
still ? ” 

Yes, Ellen, and into frightful countries, among the ferocious Indians.” 

** Do you know the reason of his goin_- ? ” tiie girl continued. 

” Yes; he is about to look for u gold placer ” 

Alas ! ” who will protect me, who w'ih defend me in future, if we go away? ” 

” 1, Ellen ! ” the hunter exclaimed impetuously. ” Have I not sw^rn to follow’ you 
everywhere ? ” 

‘•Itistiue,” she said sadly, but why should you risk your life on the distant 
journey we are abo.t to undertaker From what I have heard say, the band mv 
laihei commands will be numerous -■ -it will have scarce anything to fear from the 
Indians; while, on the other hand, you, compelle.i to hide yourself, will be exposed 
alone to terrible danger. No, Hairy, 1 wiil not permit it.” 

” Undece.ve yoursef, Ellen. I sliali no: be toiced to conceal myself; I sliall not 
be alone, for I am a member of yi ur father’s baud. I enrolled myself this very 
evening.” 

“ On ! ” she said, ” then in that ca«e w’c can often meet ? ” 

” Are your mother and fatlier still unkind tj you, Ellen? ” 

” It is nciirly always the same thing; and yet their conduct t■>v^ard me is strange. 


I wo ^ ar 'ie lies of Villains. 


41 


It often seems to me incomprehensible, as it is so marked with peculiarities. There 
are n.omentsin winch they seem to love me dearlw My fatner especiaiiv caresses 
and embraces me, and then alt at once, i know not why, repulses me rudcl).” 

** Tnat is indeed s range, Ellen.” 

** Is it not? There is one thin^ above all I cannot explain.” 

I ell it me, Ellen : perhaps I can do so.” 

” I wear lound my neck a small golden crucifix. Every time accident makes this 
trinket glisten before my father and motlier they grow tuiious, threaten to beat me, 
and Older me to hide it at once. Do you understand the meaninor of this, 
Harry ? ” 

** No, I do not, Ellen ; but, believe me, leave everything to time : perhaps it 
will enable us to find the clue to tne mystery which we seek in vain at this 
moment.” 

” Well, your presence has rendered me happy for a long time, Harry, so now I 
will rciite.” 

Already ? ” 

” I must, my friend. Believe me that I am as sad as yourself at this separation ; 
but my father has not yet returned, and may arrive at any moment. If he noticed 
that I was not asleep, who knows what might happen ? ” 

Wnile saying the last words the girl held out her delicate hand to the hunter, who 
raised it to h;s lips passionately. Ellen witlidiew it suddenly, and bounding like a 
startled faw n, darted into the forest, where she soon disappeared, giving the young 
man a parting word, which caused him to quiver with joy. 

” We shall meet soon.” 

Hairy stood for a long time with his eyes fixed on the spot where the seductive 
vision had disappeared. At length he uttered a sigh, threw his rifle over his shoulder, 
and turned as if to depart. Dick was before him. Harrv gave a start of surprise, 
for he had forgotten his friend’s presence; but the latter smi'ed good-humouredly. 

** I now comprehend your conduct, Hairy,” he said to him ; “you were right to 
act as you did. Pardon my unjust suspicions, and count on me everywhere and 
always.” 

Harry silently pressed the hand his friend offered him, and they walked back 
rapidly in the direction of the village. 

Without entciingupon any letrospcct of Fray Ambrosio’s life, it will be sufficient 
to say there were dark secrets in it which would not bear the light, and tuat the one 
hinted at by Red Cedar was founded on fact. 

It was whispered by more than one, that after discovering the secret of the 
placer, he had himself provoked the brawl in which the unfortunate gold>secker 
perished. 

Be this as it maf , we must now follow in the footsteps of the monk. 


CHAPTER XU. 

TWO VARIETIES OF VILLAINS. 

Fray Ambras*o ambled gently on, while reflecting on the events of the evening, 
and calculating mentally the probable profits of the expedition he medit ited. He 
had left far behind him the last houses of the village, and was advancing catitiously 
along a narrow path when suddenly his mule pricked up its cars, raised its head, 
and stopped short.- 

Looking up he saw about ten paces frr m him a man was standing right in the 


4a 


The Troll Hun Ur, 


middle of the path. Fray Ambrosio was a man not easily to be frightened : be- 
tides, he was well armed. He drew out one of the pistols hidden under his gown, 
Cc'cked it, and prepared to cross-question the person who so resolutely barred his 
way. But the latter, at the sharp sound of setting the hammer, thought it prudent 
to make himself known. 

“Halloh!” he shouted, “ put up your pistol, Fray Ambrosio; I only want to 
talk with you.’* 

“ Dtavolo 1 ” the monk said, “ the hour and moment are singularly chosen for a 
friendly conversation.” 

” Time belongs to nobody,” the stranger answered sententionsly. ” I am obliged 
to choose that which I have at my disposal.” 

” Thar is true,” the monk said as he quietly uncocked his pi<^tol, though not 
returning it to his belt. ” Wno the deuce are you, and why arc you so anxious to 
speak with me ? Do you want to confess ? ” 

“ Must I tell you my name that you may know with whom you have to deal ? ** 
“Needless, my good sir, needless; but how the deuce is it. Red Cedar, that I meet 
you here ? What can you have so pressing to communicate to me ? ” 

*■ You shall know if you will stop tor a few moments and dismount.” 

'I'hc deuce take you .with your whims ! Cannot you tell me that as well to- 
morrow.’ Night is getting on, and my home is still some distance off,” 

“ What I have to say to you does not admit of delay.” 

“ You wish to make a proposal to me, then ? ” 

Yes, about the affair we discussed this evening at the Paso.** 

“ Why, I fancied we had settled all that, and you accepted my offer.’* 

“Not yet, not yet, my master. That will depend on the conversation we arc 
about to have, so you had better ^^smount and sit down quietly by my side.” 

‘‘ The deuce take people who • .ge their minds every minute, and on whom one 
cannot reckon more than on an o.a surplice 1 ” growled the monk. 

“ Here I am,” the monk went on, so soon as he was seated. “ I really do 
not know. Red Cedar, why I yield so easily to all your whims.” 

“ Because you suspect that your interest depends on it : were it not for that, 
you would not do so.” 

” Why talk thus in the open country, instead of going to your house, where 
we should be much more comfortable? ” 

Red Cedar shook his head in denial. 

“ No,” he said ; “ here we need not fear listeners at our doors.’* 

“That is true. Well, go on ; I am listening.” 

“ Hum ! you insist upon rny commanding the expedition you project? ’* 

“ Of course. I have known you a long time. I am aware that you are a 
sure man, perfectly versed i i Indian signs.” 

” Do not speak about what I have done. Tne question now concerns you, 
and not me.” 

” How so ? ” 

” Good, good I Let me speak. You need me, so it is to my interest to 
make you pay as dearly as I can.” 

” I am not rich, gossip, as you are aware.” 

‘‘ I know that, so soon as you have a few ounces, the mont^ table strips yott 
of them immediately.” 

” Hang it! I have always been unlucky at play.” 

“ For that reason 1 do not intend asking you for money.’* 

“Very good. If you have no designs on my purse we can easily come tO 00 
understanding.” 

“ 1 hope we shall, the more as the service I expect from you is almost nothing.** 


Two Varieties of Villains, 


43 


“ Come to the point, Red Cedar.” 

“ You know that I have a deadly hatred against Don Miguel Zarate ?’* 

** I have heard say he lodged his knife in your chest 

“ Yes: but thanks to the devil, I am on my legs again, and I want my revenge,” 

“You are right : in your place I would do the same 1 ” 

“ For that I count on your help.” 

Hum ! that is a delicate affair. I do not see how I can serve you.” 

“ Don Miguel has a daughter, and I mean to carry her off. ’ 

“ I cannot and will not help )’^ou in carrying off the daughter of Don Miguel, 
to whom I owe so many obligations.” 

“ Measure your words, Fray Ambrosio, for this conversation is serious. Be- 
fore refusing reflect.” 

“ I have reflected, Red Cedar, and .iever will I consent to help you in carry- 
ing off the daughter of my benefactor. 1 am inflo.xible.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Ta, ta, ta ! you are mad, my good fellow. Don’t let us waste our time. If 
you have nothing else to say to me I will leave you.” 

“You have become scrupulous all of a sudden, my master.” 

“ There is a beginning to everything, compadre; so let us say no more but 
good-bye.” 

And the monk rose. 

“ By the way,” said Red Cedar carelessly, “ be kind enough to give me some 
information I require. It concerns a certain Don Pedro de Tudela.” 

“ Eh ?” the monk exclaimed. 

“ Come, come. Fray Ambrosio,” Red Cedar continued in a jeering voice, 
“ let us have a little more talk together. I will tell you, if you like, a very 
remarkable story about this Don Pedro.” 

The monk was livid ; a nervous tremor agitated his limbs ; he let loose his 
mule’s bridle, and followed the squatter mechanically, who seated himself tran- 
quilly on the ground, making him a sign to follow his example. Tne monk 
obeyed, suppressing a sigh, and wiping away the drops of cold perspiration 
that beaded on his forehead. 

“ Eh, eh !” the squatter continued at the end of a moment, “we must allow 
that Don Pedro was a charming gentleman — a little wild, perhaps ; but what 
would you have ? He was young. I remember meeting him at Albany a long 
time ago — some sixteen or seventeen years ago — at the house of one — wait 
awhile, the name has slipped my memory — could you not help me to it. Fray 
Ambrosio ? ” 

“ I do not know what you mean,” the monk said in a hollow voice, whila 
his right hand clutched the hilt of his dagger; and he bent on the squatter a 
glance full of deadly hatred. 

“I have it!” continued his tormento. “The man’s name was Walter 
Brunnel.” 

“ Demon ! ” howled the monk, “ I know not who made you master of that 
horrible secret, but you shall die.” 

And he rushed upon him dagger in hand. But Red Cedar was on his guard. 
By a rapid movement he checked his arm, twisted it, and seized the dagger, 
which he threw a long distance off. 

“ Enough! ” he said. “ We understand one another, my master. Do not 
play that game with me.’* 

The monk fell back on his seat, without the strength to make a sign or utter 
a syllable. The squatter regarded him for a moment with mingled pity and 
contempt, and shrugged his shoulders. 


44 


The Trail- Hunter. 


“ For sixteen years I have bel>i that secret/’ he said. ‘‘ and it has never passed my 
lips. I will continue to keeo silence on one condition, tnat you help me in carrying off 
the hacA'i'.dcio’s d iughter.'* 

“ J will do it.” 

“ Mind, I expect honest assistance; so do not attempt any treachery.** 

“ I will help you, I tell 5 oj.” 

” (J'oofl ! 1 count on } our word. Besides, you may be easy, master : 1 will 
watc you,” 

“ Enough of threats. What is to be done? ” 

“ When do we start for Apacbeiia? ” 

“ We shall start in a week,” the monk said. 

“Good! On the day of the start you will hand orer the girl to me, one hour 
before our departure.” 

“ Be it so,” the monk said with an effort. “ I will do it ; but remember, demon, 
if I ever h.olil you in my hands, as 1 am tliis day in yours, 1 shall be pitiless, and 
make you pay for all 1 suffer at this moment.” 

“ You wi 1 be right to do so — it is your due: st 11 I doubt whether you will ever be 
able to reach me. Bu a truce to quarrels,” the squatter said, re-assuming the 
friendly tone which he employed at the outset of the conversation ; I pie; ge my self to 
lead you straight to your placer. 1 have not InCvl ten years with the Indians not to 
be up to all their tricks. ’ 

“ Of course,” the monk answered as he rose, “ you know, Red Cedar, what was 
agreed upon : the placer will be shared between us. It is, therefore, to your interest 
to enable us to reach it without obstacle.” 

“ We shall reach it. Now that we hav« nothing more to say to each other, 
and have agreed on all points — or we have done so, 1 think?” he said signi- 
hcantU . 

“Yes, all.” 

We can part, and go each home. No matter, my master! I told you that 1 
should succeed in making you alter your mind. Look you, Fray Ambrosio,” he 
added in an impudent tone, which made the monk turn palo with rage ; “ people 
need only to understand one another to do anything.” He rose, threw his rifle 
over his shoulder, and turning away sharply, went off with lengthened strides. 

The monk remained for a moment as if stunned by what had happened, then 
as he got into the saddle, muttered “Oh! bow did this demon discover the 
secret which I believed no one knew?” 

And he went oft gloomy and thoughtful. Half an hour later he reached the 
Hacienda de la Noria, when the gate was opened for him by a trusty peon, for 
everybody was asleep. It was past midnight. 

We now return to the 1 aciendero who, accompanied hy his two friends, is gallop- 
ing along in the dire. tion of Valentine’s jacal, near which, in a picturesque gictto, 
he was to mtVt his lellow cotisjiirator, General Ibanez, under the guidance of Eagle- 
wing, tl'.e chief of the Coras. 

Punctual 10 a minute, the two men appeared. 

The general was a man of about thuty-five, tall and well buih, with a dehente 
anti intelligent face. His manners were graceful and n»b!e. He bowed coidially 
to the haciendeto and Valentine, squeezed Curumilla’s liand, and fell down in a 
sitting posture by the fire. 

“ Oaf 1 ” he said. “ I am done, gentlemen. I have just ridden an awful distance. 
My poor horse is foundered, and to recover myself I made an ascent, fiurnig v\hi. ti I 
thought twenty times I must break down; and ti at would have infaliibl) happmed 
hadnotfiiend Eaglewiig charitably come to my aid. I must confess tiiat these 
Indians climb like real cats/* . . 


7'wo / a/ ielies of FiUains. 


45 


"At length you have arrived, my friend,”* Don Miguel answered. Heaven be 
prai -ed ! ” 

“ For my part I confess that my impatience was equally great since I learned the 
treachery of that scoundixlly Red Cellar. That fool Wood sent him to me with so 
warm a recommendation tha*, in spite of all my prudence, 1 let myself be taken in, 
and tiearly told him all my secrets.” 

“Do not feel alaimcd, my fr end. After what Valentine told me to-day, we have, 
perchance, a way of foiling the tucks of the infamous spy wno has denoanc-d us.” 

‘‘May Heaven grant it! But nothing will icinovc my impjcssion that Wood has 
something to do with what has happened. ’ 

“ Wno knows, my friend? Perhaps you are right. Unfortunately what is done 
cannot be helped, and our retrospective reciirninations will do us no good.” 

” Come, come, gentlemen,” Valentine sai l, the time is slipping away, and we 
have none to waste. If you permit me I will submit to your approval a plan which, 
1 believf, combines all the desirable chances of success, and will turn in our favour 
the very treachery to which we h-avc fallen viedms.” 

“Speak, speak, mv friend ! ” the two men cxc'aimed. 

“Gentlemen,” saul Valentine, “ this is what 1 propose. The treachery of Red 
Cedar, in surrendering to the gc. vernment the secret of your conspiracy, places you 
in a critical position, fro u wriich you cannot escape, save by violent measures. You 
are between life and death. You have no alternative. I'he powder is fired, the 
ground is mined under your feet, and an explosion is imminent. Well, then, pick 
up the glove treachery throws to you — accept (rankly the position offered. Do nor 
wait till you are attacked, but commence the contest. All depends on tnc fiist blow. 
It must be terrible, and terrify them : if not, you are lo.st.” 

“ All that is true, but we lack time,” General Ibanez observed. 

‘‘Time is never lacking when a man knows how to employ it properly,” Valentine 
answered peremptorily. “ 1 repeat, you must be beforehand with your adversaries.” 

At this moment the sound of fooisteps was heard in the cave. The most extreme 
silence at once reigned in the chamber where the five conspirators were assembled. 
Mechanically each sought his weapons. Tlie steps rapidly approached, and a roan 
appe lied in the entrance of the hall. On seeing him all present uttered a cry of joy, 
and rose respectfully, repeating, “ Fathei Serapi.m !” 

The man advanced smiling, bowed gracefully, and answ'frcd in a gentle and 
mclod ous voice, which went straight to ti e soul. 

“Take your places again, gentlemen, J Leg of you. I should be truly vexed if I 
causeti you any disturbance. Peiinit me only to sit down tor a few moments by 
your side.” 

They hastened to make room for him. Let us l?ay in a few w'ords who this 
pcison was whose unexpect d anival caused so much pleasure. 

Father Seiaphin was a Frenchman, and belonged to the order of the Lazaiists. 
For fi\e years he had been tiaversing as an indefatigable missionaiy, with no other 
weapon than ids s aff, the unexplored solitudes of Texas and New Mexico, preacning 
the Gospel to the Indians, while caring nofhmg for the teiiib'c pnvaiions and name- 
less suHerings he incessantly enduied, and the death constantly suspended over 
his head. 

F.it lei Scraphin was one of those numerous soldieis, ignored martyrs of the army 
of taith, who, making a shield of the Gospel, .'piead at the peiil of their lives the 
worii of Gi/d in those baibarous countries, and die her. ically, falling bravely on 
their battle-field, worn out by the painful exigencies of their sublime mission ; aged 
at thiity, but having gained over a few souls to tne truth, and shed light among the 
Ignorant masses. 

Faihe. Scraphin had gained the friendsh p and respect of all those With whom 


46 


The Trail- Hunter, 


accident had brought hisn into contact. Charmed with meeting a f.llow-countryman 
in the midst of those vast solitudes, so distant from that Ftcncc he never hoped to 
«ec again, he had attached himself closely to Val^^nLine, to vvno.n he vowed a deep 
and Sincere affection. 

So soon as Father Seiaphin had taken his place near the fire, Eagle- wing an I 
Cuiumilla hastened to offer him all those slight services which they fancied migi t 
be agreeable to him, and offered him a few lumps ot roast venison with maize toi- 
tillas. The mission ry gladly gratified the two chiefs, and accepted their offeiings. 

“ It is a long time since we saw you, father,” the hacieudero said. “ You neglect 
us. My daughter asked me about you only two days ago.” 

“ Dona Clara is an angel who does not require me,” the missionary replied 
gently. I have spent neaHy two months with the Coraanciie tribe of the Tortoise. 
Tnose poor Indians claim all my care.” 

” Are you satisfied with your journey ? ” 

“ Sufficiently so, for these men are not such as they are represented to us.” 

” Do you reck( n on staying long among us ? ” 

“Yes; this last journey has fatigued me extremely. My health is in a deplor- 
ab’e state, and 1 absolutely need a few days’ rest.” 

“Well, father, come with me to the I'acienda; you will remain with us, and 
make us all truly happy.’’ 

*• I was going to make that request to you, Don Miguel. 1 am delighted that 
you have thus met my wishes.” 

“ Father,” Valeniine then said, “ is the game plentiful in the desert just at 
present ? ’’ 

” Y es, there is a great deal : the buffaloes have come down from the mountains in 
herds — the elks, the deer, and the antelopes swarm.” 

Valentine rubbed his hands. 

“ It will be a good season,” he said. 

“ Yes, for you. As for myself, I have no cause of complaint, for the Indians have 
been most attentive to me.” 

“ All the better. 1 ever tremble when I know you arc among those red devils.’* 

“ Why entertain such ideas, my fiiend ? ” 

“ They ate correct. You cannot imagine what treacherous and cruel cowards 
those Apache thieves are. I know them, and carry their marks ; but do not frighten 
yoursel'. It tver they ventured on any extremetics against you, I know the road to tneir 
villages : there is not a nook in the desert which I liave not thoroug.ily explored. It 
is not for tiothmg I have received the name of the “Trail-hunter. 1 swear to you 
I will not leave them a scaip.” 

Valentine, you know 1 do not like to hear you speak so. The Indians are poor 
ignorant men who know not what they do.” 

“All right, all light,” the hunter growled. “You have your ideas on that score, 
and 1 mine.” 

“ Yes,” the missionary replied with a smile, “ but I believe mine tke better.” 

“ And what are the Indians doing at this moment? ” Valentine continued. “ Are 
they still figiiting ? ” 

“No; I succeeded in bringing Unicorn, the principal chief of the Comanches, 
and Stanapat (the Handful ef Blood), ttie Apache sachem, to an interview, at vvtuch 
peace was sworn.” 

“ Hum,” said Valentine; “that peace will not last long, for Unicorn has too many 
reasons to owe the Apaches a grudge.” 

“ Not ing leads to tne supposition at present that your forebodings will be speedily 
realised.” 

“Why so?” 


U/ucorn, 


^7 


“Because, when I left Unicorn, he was preparinj^ for a grand buffalo hunt io 
which five hundn d picked wairiors were to take part,” 

“ Ah, ah ! and where do you think the hunt will take place, father? ” 

“I know for a ceitainty, because, when 1 left Unicorn, he begged me to invite 
you to it.” 

“ I will willincjly accept, for a buffalo hunt always had great attractions for me. ' 

” And now, gentlemen, I will ask you to excuse me ; tor 1 feel so broken with 
fatigue, that, with your j)ermission, I will go and take a few hours’ rest.” 

” I was a fool not to think of it before,” Valentine exclaimed. 

“I thought for my brother,” said Curumilla. “If my father will folio .v me 
all is ready.” 

The missionary thanked him with a smile and rose, and, supported by Eagle- 
wing, followed Curumilla into another chamber of the grotto, where he found 
a bed of dry leaves covered with bear skins, and a fire so arranged as to burn 
all night. The two Indians retired after bowing respectfully to the father. 

After his departure Valentine bent over to his two friends. 

“ All is saved,” he said in a low voice. 

** How ? Explain yourself,” they eagerly answered. 

Listen to me. You will spend the night here : at daybreak you will start 
for the Hacienda de la Noria, accompanied by Father Seraphin.” 

“ Good : What next ? ” 

General Ibanez will proceed, as from you, to the governor, and invite him to 
a grand hunt of wild horses, to take place in three days.” 

“ I do not understand what you are driving at.” 

“That is not necessary at this moment. 

Let me guide you ; but, above all, arrange it so tlfat all the authorities of the 
town accept your invitation and are present at the hunt.” 

“ That I take on myself,” 

“ Very good. You, General, will collect all the men you can, so that they 
can support you on a given signal, but hide themselves so that no one can sus- 
pect their presence.” 

Very good,” Don Miguel answered ; “ all shall be done as you recommend. 
But where will you be all this while ? ” 

“You know very well,” he answered with a smile of undefinable meaning. 

* I shall be hunting the buffalo with my friend Unicorn, the great chief of the 
Comanches.” 


CHAPTER XIII, 

UNICORN, 

Iefore retiring to rest Father Seraphin, on the previous evening, had whispered 
i couple of words in the Indians’ ears. '1 he sun had scarce begun to rise 
< little above the extreme blue line of the horizon ere the missionary opened 
iis eyes, and after a short prayer hurried to the hall in which his companions 
lad remained. The four men were still asleep, wrapped in their furs and 
Duffalo skins. 

“ Wake up, brothers,” Father Seraphin said, “ for day is appearing.” 

The four men started up in an instant. 

“ My brothers,” the young missionary said, I thought that we ought, before 
separating, to thank God in common for the blessings He does not cease to 
vouchsafe to us — to celebrate our happy meeting of last night. I have, there. 


48 


*2he Trail-Hunter > 


fore, resolved to hold a mass, at which I shall be happy to see you with that 
purity of heart which such a duty demands.” 

At'this proposition the four men exclaimed gladly their assent. 

I will help you to prepare the altar, father,” Valentine said ; ” the idea is 
excellent.” 

” 'I he altar is all ready, my friends. Have the kindness to follow me.” 

Father Seraphin then led them out of the grotto. 

In the centre of a small esplanade in front of the cave an altar had been 
built by Eagle.wing and Curumilla on a grassy mound. It wa.s very simple. A 
copper crucifix planted in the centre of the mound, covered by a cloth of 
dazzling whiteness ; on either side of it two block-tin candlesticks, in which 
burned candles of yellow tal.ow, a Bible on the right, the pyx in the centre — that 
was all. 

'I'he mass lasted about three quarters of an hour. When it was finished the 
missionary placed the poor holy vessels in the bag he constantly carried with 
him and they returned to the grotto for bieakfast. An hour later, Don Miguel, 
General lijanez, and the missionary took leave of Val-'ntine, and mounted on 
their horses, which Curumilla had led to the entrance of the ravine. They 
started at a gal op in the direction of the Paso del Norte, whence they were 
about twenty leagues distant. Valentine and the two Indian chiefs remained 
beliind. 

” I am about to leave my brother,” Eagle- wing said. 

*' Why not remain with us, chief ? ” 

*' My pale orother no longer requires Eagle-wing. The chief hears the cries 
of the men and women of his tribe who were cowardly assassinated, and demand 
vengeance.” • 

“ Where goes my brother ? the hunter asked, who was too thoroughly 
acquainted with the character of the Indians to try and change the warrior’s 
determination. 

*• The Coras dwell in villages on the banks of the Colorado. Eagle-wing is 
returning to his friends. He will ask for warriors to avenge his brothers.” 

“May the Great Spirit protect my father !” said Valentine. “The road is 
long to the villages of his tribe. The chief is leaving friends who love him.” 

“ Eagle-wing knows it : he will remember,” the chief said with a deep 
intonation ; and pressing the hands the two hunters held out to him, bounded 
on bis horse and disappeared in the windings of the Canon. Valentine watched 
his departure with a sad and melancholy look. 

“ bball I ever see him again ? ” he murmured. “ He is an Indian, and is fol- 
lowing vengeance. It is his nature. Every man must obey his destiny.” 

After this aside the hunter threw his rifle on his shoulder and started in his 
turn, followed by Curumilla. Valentine and his comrade were on foot, and after 
the Indian custom, walked one behind the other, not uttering a syllable; but 
toward mid-day the heat became so insupportable that they were obliged to 
stop to take a short repose. As the evening breeze rose, the hunters resumed 
their journey. Tl hey soon reached the banks of Rio Puerco (Dirty River), which 
they began ascending, following the tracks made since time immemorial by 
wild animals coming down to drink. 

At the hour when the viaukaivis uttered its last song to salute the setting of 
tlie sun, the travellers perceived the tents of the Comanches. 'I'he Indians had, 
in a few hours, improvised a real village with their buffalo-skin tents, aligned 
to form streets and squares. 

On arriving at about five hundred yards from the village the hunters suddenly 
percived an Indian horseman. Evincing not the slightest surprise, they stopped 


Unicorn, 


49 


and unfolded their buffalo robes, which floated in the breeze, as a signal of 
peace. The horseman uttered a loud cry. At this signal — for it was evidently 
one — a troop of Comanche warriors debouched at a gallop from the village, 
and deploying to the rigtit and left, they formed a vast circle, inclosing the two 
unmoved hunters. 

Then a horseman quitted the group, dismounted, and rapidly approached the 
new comers : the latter hastened' to meet him. All three had their arm 
extended with the palm forward in sign of peace. The Indian who thus 
advanced to meet the hunters was Unicorn, the gieat chief of the Comanches. As 
a distinctive sign of his race, his skin was of a red tinge, brighter than the palest 
new copper. He was a man of thirty at the most, with masculine and expres- 
sive features, and his muscular limbs evidenced a vigour and suppleness against 
which few men would have contended with advantage. 

He was completely painted and armed for war ; his black hair was drawn up 
on his head in the form of a casque, and fell down his back like a mane ; a pro- 
fusion of wampum collars, claws of grizzly bear, and buffalo teeth adorned his 
breast, on which was painted w'ith rare dexterity a blue tortoise, the distinctive 
sign of the tribe to which he belonged, and of the size of a hand. 

W nen the three men were close together they saluted by raising their hands 
to their foreheads ; then Valentine and Unicorn crossed their arms bypassing 
the right handover the left shoulder, and bowing their heads at the same time, 
kissed each other’s mouth after the prairie fashion. Unicorn then saluted Guru- 
milla in the same way ; and this preliminary ceremony terminated, the Coman* 
che chief took the word. 

“ My brothers will follow me, and rest at the council fire.” 

The hunters bowed an assent. Each received a horse, and at a signal from 
Unicorn, who had placed himself between them, the troop started at a gallop, 
and returned to the village, which it entered to the deafening sound of drums, 
clnkikoues, shouts of joy from the women and children who saluted their 
return, and the furious barking of the dogs. When the chiefs were seated round 
the council fire the pipe was lit, and ceremoniously presented to the two 
stratigers, who smoked in silence for some minutes. When the pipe had gone 
the round several times Unicorn addressed Valentine. 

“ Kouionepi is a great hunter,” he said to him : “ he has often followed the 

buffalo. The chief will tell him the preparations.” 

“ It is needless.” chief ” Valentine replied. “ The buffalo is the friend of the 
red-skins ; the Comanches know all its stratagems, i snouid like to ask a 
question ot my brother.” 

Tne hunter can speak ; my ears are open.” 

“How long will the chief remain on the hunting grounds with his young 
men ? ” 

“ About a week. The buffaloes are suspicious ; my young men are surround- 
ing them, but they cannot drive them in our direction before four or five days.” 

*• How many warriors have remained with the chief ? ” 

“About four hundred: the rest are scattered over the plain to announce the 
approach of the buffaloes.” 

“Good! If my brother likes I will procure him a fine hunt within three 
days.” 

“ Ah ! ” the chief exclaimed, “ then my brother has started some game ? ” 

‘‘ Oh I ” Valentine answered with a laugh, “ let my brother trust to me, and 
1 promise him rich spoils.” 

“ Good ! Of what game- does my brother speak ?” 

“Of gachupinos. In two days they will meet in large numbers not far from here.'”* 

i) 


The 2'raiL- Hunter, 


to 


“ Wah !” said the Comanche, whose eyes sparkled at this news, “ my younf 
men will hunt them. My brother must explain.” 

Valentine shook his head. 

“ My words are for the ears of a chief,” he said. 

Without replying Unicorn made a signal : the Indians rose silently, and left 
the tent. Curumilla and Unicorn alone remained near the fire. Valentine 
then explained to the Comanche, in its fullest details, the plan he had con- 
ceived, in the execution of which the aid of the Indians was indispensable for 
him. Unicorn listened attentively without interrupting. When Valentine had 
ended,— 

“ What does my brother think ?” the latter asked, fixing a keen glance on the 
coumenance of the chief. 

“ Wah ! ” the other replied, “ the pale-face is very crafty. Unicorn will do 
what he desires.” 

This assurance felled Valentine’s heart with joy. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE HUNT OP THE WILD HORSES, 

Don Miguel Zarate and his two friends did not reach the hacienda till 
late. They were received by Don Pablo and Dona Clara, who manifested 
great joy at the sight of the French missionary, for whom they felt a sincere 
esteem and great friendship. Spite of all his care, Fray Ambrosio had always 
seen his advances repelled by the young people, in whom he instinctively 
inspired that fear mingled with disgust that is experienced at the sight of a 
reptile. 

Fray Ambrosio was too adroit to appear to notice the effect his presence 
produced on the haciendero’s children: he feigned to attribute to timidity and 
indifference on religious matters what was in reality a strongly-expressed 
loathing for himself personally. But in his heart a dull hatred fermented 
against the two young folk, and especially against the missionary, whom he 
had several times already attempted to destroy by well-laid snares. Father 
Seraphin had always escaped them by a providential chance. 

Don Miguel left his children with the missionary, who immediately took 
possession of him and dragged him away, lavishing on him every possible 
attention. The hacicndero retired to his study with General Ibanez, when the 
two men drew up a list of the persons they intended to invite ; that is to say, the 
persons Valentine proposed to get out of the way, though they were innocent of 
his scheme. The General then mounted his horse, and rode off to deliver the 
invitations personally. For his part, Don Miguel sent off a dozen peons and 
vaqueros in search of the wild horses, and to drive them gradually toward the 
spot chosen for the hunt. 

General Ibanez succeeded perfectly : the invitations were gladly accepted, 
and the next evening the guests began arriving at the hacienda, Don 
Miguel receiving them with marks of the most profound lespect and lavish hos- 
pitality. 

The governor. General Isturitz, Don Luciano Perez, and seven or eight per- 
sons of inferior rank were soon assembled at the hacienda. At sunrise a 
numerous party, composed of forty persons, left the hacienda, and proceeded, 
accompanied by a crowd of well-mounted peons, towards the meet. This was 


The lluuc of ikt W d L Horses, 


51 


A vast plain on the banks of the Rio del Norte, where the wild horses were 
accustomed to graze at this season. Starting at about four a.m. from the 
hacienda, they reached four hours later a clump of trees, beneath whose shade 
tents had been raised and tables laid by Don Miguel’s orders, so that they might 
breakfast before the hunt. 

The riders, who had been journeying for four hours, already exposed to the 
rays of the sun and the dust, uttered a shout of joy at the sight of the tents. 
Each dismounted: the ladies were invited to do the s.ame, among them being 
the wives of the governor and General Isturitz, and Dona Clara, and they 
gaily sat down round the tables. 

Toward the end of the breakfast Don Pablo arrived, who had started the 
evening previously to join the vaqueros. He announced that the horses had 
been started, that a large manada was now crossing the Plain of the Coyotes, 
watched by the vaqueros, and that they must make haste if they wished to have 
good sport. This news augmented the ardour of the hunters. The ladies were 
left in camp under the guard of a dozen well-armed peons, and the whole party 
rushed at a gallop in the direction indicated by Don Pablo. 

The leader of the vaqueros made his leport. A manada of about ten thou- 
sand head were two leagues off on the plain, quietly grazing in the company of 
a few elks and buffaloes. The hunters scaled a hill, from the top of which they 
easily saw on the horizon a countless mob of animals, grouped in the most 
picturesque way, and apparently not at all suspecting the danger that threatened 
them. 

After the vaquero’s report Don Miguel and his friends held a council, and this 
is the resolution they came to. They formed what is called in Mexico the 
grand circle of the wild horses ; that is to say, the most skilful riders were 
echelonned in every direction at a certain distance from each other, so as to 
form an immense circle. The wild horses are extremely suspicious : their in- 
stinct is so great, their scent is so subtle, that the slightest breath of wind is 
sufficient to carry to them the smell of their enemies, and m • e them set off at 
headlong speed. Hence it is necessary to act with the greatest prudence, and 
use many precautions, if a surprise is df sired. 

When all the preparations were made the hunters dismounted, and dragging 
their horses after them, glided through the tall grass so as to contract the circle. 
This manoeuvre had gone on for some time, and they had sensibly drawn nearer, 
when the manada began to display some signs of restlessness. The horses 
which had hitherto grazed calmly, raised their heads, pricked their ears, and 
neighed as they inhaled the air. Suddenly they collected, formed a compact 
band, and started at a trot in the direction of some cotton-wood trees which 
stcod on the banks of the river. The hunt was about to commence. 

At a signal from Don Miguel six well-mounted vaqueros rushed at full speed 
ahead of the manada, making their lassos whistle round their heads. The 
horses startled by the apparition of the riders, turned back hastily, uttering 
snorts of terror, and fled in ano'her direction. But each time they tried to 
force the circle, horsemen rode into the midst of them and compelled them to 
turn back. 

When this manoeuvre had lasted long enough, and the horses began to grow 
blinded with terror, at a signal given by Don Miguel the c.rcle was broken at a 
certain spot. The horses rushed, with a sound like thunder, toward this issue 
which opened before them, overturning with their chests everything that barred 
their progress. But it was this the hunters expected. The horses in their mad 
race, galloped on without dreaming that the road they followed grew narrower 
in front of them and terminated in inevitable captivity. 


5 ^ 


The Trail-Hunler. 


Let us explain the termination of this hunt. The manada had been cleverly 
guided by the hunters toward the entrance of a canon, or ravine, which ran 
between two rather lofty hills. At the end of this ravine the vaqueros had 
formed, with stakes fifteen feet long, planted in the ground, and firmly fastened 
together with cords of twisted bark, an immense corral or enclosure, into which 
the tiorses rushed without seeing it. In less than no time the corral was full : 
then the hunters went to meet the manada. which they cut off at the risk of 
their lives, while the others closed the entrance of the corral. More than 
fifteen hundred magnificent wild horses were thus captured at one stroke. 

The noble animals rushed with snorts of fury at the walls of the inclosure, 
trying to tear up the stakes with their teeth, and dashing madly against them. 
At length they recognised the futility of their efforts, lay down and remained 
motionless. In the meanwhile a tremendous struggle was going on in the ravin : 
between the hunters and the rest of the manada. The horses confined in this 
narrow space made extraordinary efforts to open a passage and fly anew. They 
neighed, stamped, and flew at everything that came within their reach. At 
length they succeeded in regaining their first direction, and rushed into the plain 
with the velocity of an avalanche. Several vaqueros had been dismounted and 
trampled on by the horses, and two of them had received such injuries that 
thev were carried off the ground in a state of insensibility. 

With all the impetuosity of youth, Don Pablo had rushed into the very heart 
of the manada. Suddenly his horse received a kick which broke its off fore 
leg, and it fell to the ground, dragging its rider with it. But he rose with the 
rapidity of lightning, and quick as thought seizing the mane of the nearest 
horse, he leaped on its back, and held on by his knees. Then a strange thing 
occurred — an extraordinary struggle between the horse and its rider. The 
noble beast, furious at feeling its back dishonoured by the weight it bore, 
bounded, reared, rushed forward ; but all was useless, for Don Pablo adhered 
firmly. 

So long as it was in the ravine, the horse, impeded by its comrades, could not 
do all it mi^ht have wished to get rid of the burden it bore ; but so soon as it 
found itself on the plain it threw up its heed, made several leaps on one 
side, and then started forward at a speed wh;ch took away the young man’s 
breath. 

Don Pablo held on firmly by digging his knees into the panting sides of his 
steed: he unfastened his cravat, and prepared to play the last scene in this 
drama, which threatened to terminate in a tragic way for him. The horse had 
changed its tactics : it was racing in a straight line to the river, resolved to 
drown itself with its rider sooner than submit, when suddenly the horse changed 
its plans again, reared, and tried to fall back with its rider. Don Pablo clung 
convulsively to the animal’s neck, and at the moment it was falling back, he 
threw his cravat over its eyes with extraordinary skill. 

'I he horse, suddenly blinded, feel back again on its feet, and stood tremblino’ 
with terror. Then the young man dismounted, put his face to the horse’s head^ 
and breathed into its nostiils, while gently scratching its forehead. This operation 
lasted ten minutes at the most, thd horse panting and sno ting, but not darin^^ 
to leave the spot. The Mexican again leaped on the horse’s b !ck, and removed 
the bandage : it remained stunned— Don Pablo had tamed it. Everybody rushed 
lo'.v.ud the young man, who smiled proudly, in order to compliment him on his 
sp endid victory. Don Pablo dismounted, gave his horse to a vaquero, who 
immediately passed a bridle round its neck, and then walked toward his father 
who embraced him tenderly. For more than an hour Don Miguel had despaired 
of his sob’s life. 


1 ke Hunt of the Wild Horses. 


5 ^ 


** So soon as the emotion caused by D m Pablo’s prowess was calmel they beqfan 
tf'iinking' about utuiniii^. 'i he whole day had been S|;enc with the i xc.ting’ incidt-nts 
ot the chase. The ISacicnda de la Noria was nearly ten leaijues tiistant; it was, 
therefore, urgent to stait as speedily as possible, unless the paity wished to run the 
risk of bivouacking in the open ait. 

'I'he men would easily have put up with this slight annoyatice, but they had 
ladies with them. Left one or two leagues in the rear, they must feel alarmed by 
the absence of the huutets, winch had b cn protracted far beyond ail expectation. 

Don Miguel gave the vaqueros ('rdcis to brand the captured horses with his 
c'pher ; and the whole paity then returned, laughing and singing, in the direction of 
the tents, wheic the ladies had been left, d he vaqueros, who had seived as beaters 
duiing the day, remained bel ind to guard the horses. 

In these countries, where there is scarce any twilight, night succeeds the day 
almost without tians tion. As soon .as the sun had set, the hunters found themselves 
in complete darkness. At a signal from D.m Miguel the patty set out at a long 
cat ter; for each felt anxious to reacn the camp. 

They arrived within a hundred yards of the fires, whose ruddy glow was reflected 
cn the distant trees, when suddenly a fearful yell crossed the air, and from behind 
every bush out staited an Indian horseman blandishing his weapons, and making 
his horse curvet round the w'hite men, wliile uttering his w.ir cry. The Mexicans, 
taken unawares, were surrounded ere they had sufficiently recovered from their 
stupor to think about employing their weapo is. At a glance Don Miguel judged 
the position : it was a critical one. The hunters were at most but twenty ; the 
number of Comanct.e warriors surrounding them was at least three hundred. 

The Comanches and Apaches are the most implacable foes of the white race, 
they mercilessly kill all who fall into their hands. Certain of the fate that awaited 
them, the M xicans rallied resolved to sell their lives dearly. There was n moment 
of supreme expectation before tlie commencement of the deadly combat, when sud« 
denly an Indian galloped out cf the rardvs of the warriots, and rode within three 
paces of the little band of Mexicans. On arriving there he stopped, and waved his 
buffalo roh.e in sign of peace. 

•‘Let me carry on the ivegotiations ” Don^Mi.niel said. “1 know the Indians 
better tfian you do.” 

“ Do so,” tie governor answered. 

General Ibanez was the only one who had remained calm and impassive since the 
surpri 'C. He did not make a move to seize his weapons ; on the contrary, he crossed 
his arms carelessly on his chest, and took a mocking glance at his comra'lcs, as he 
hummed a segueriilla between his teeth. The Indian chief took tlie word. 

“ Let the pale faces listen,” he said ; “ an Indian sachem is about to speak.” 

“ We have no time to spare in listening to the insidious words which you ate pre- 
paiiiig to say to us, ’ Don Miguel replied in a haughty voice. “ Withdraw, o. tncrc 
will be blood spilt.” 

“ The pale.faces will have brought it on themselves,” the Comanche answered in 
a gentle voice. ” 'I'he In ians mean no harm to the pale warriors.” 

“ Why then this sudden attack ? The chief is mad ; we know very well that he 
wants our scalps.’* 

“No ; Unicorn wishes to ma’-c a bargain with the pale-faces.” 

“Come, chief, explain vourselt: perhaps your intentions are as you describe them.” 

“ Go-'id,” said the Indian. “ 'Phe great white chief is becoming reasonable. Let 
him listen then to the words of Unicorn.” 

“ Go on chief ; we are listening.” 

“ The pale-taces are ttiicving dogs,” the chief said in a rough v ire; “they carry 
on a continual war with tlie red-skins, and buy their scalps as if ttic)- were peltry ; 


54 


The Trail- Hun ter, 


but the Comanchcs arc magnanimous warriors, who dis lain to aveng^e themselves. 
The squaws of the wtiite men are in their power ; they will restore tnem.” 

At these words a shudder of terror ran along the ranks of the 1 unters ; their 
courage failed them ; they had only one desire left — that of saving tnose who had so 
wretchedly fallen into the hands of these blood-tliirsty men. 

“ On what conditions will the Comanches restore their prisoners? ” Don Miguel 
asked, whose heart was contracted at the thought of his daughter. 

“ The pale-faces,” the chief con inued, “ will dismount. Unicorn will choose from 
among his enemies those whom he thinks proper to carry off; the rest will be free 
and all th^ women restored.” 

“Those conditions are harsh, chief; can you not modify them? ” 

“ A chief has only one word. Do the pale-faces craiscnt ? ’’ 

Let us consult together for a lew moments at any rate.” 

“Goodl Let the white men consult. Unicorn grants them ten minutes,” the 
chief made answer. 

And turning his horse he went back to his men. Don Miguel then addressed his 
friends. 

“ Well, what do you think of what has occurred ? ” 

The Mexicans were terrified ; still they were compelled to allow that the conduct of 
the Indians was extraordinary ; and ytt to >truggle against enemies so numerous 
was insensate, and could only result in that the chiefs conditions, harsh as they 
were, offeied at least some chance of safety for a portion of them, and the ladies 
would be saved. This last and all-powerful consideration decided them. 

Unicorn, with that ccol courage characteristic of the Indians, then advanced alone 
toward the Mexicans, who still had their weapons, and who, impelled by their despair 
and at the risk of being all massacred, would have sacrificed him to tiieir vengeance. 
The chief had also dismounted. With his hands crossed on his back, and frowning 
brow, he now commenced his inspection. The Unicom, however, was generous : he 
only selected eight of the Mexicans, and the rest received permission to mount their 
horses, and leave the fatal circle that begirt them. Still, by a strange accident, or a 
premed tation of which the reason escaped them, tr>ese eight prisoners — among 
whom was the governor, General Isturitz, and the ciiminal judge, Don Luciano 
Perez — were the most impoitmt personages in the paity, and the members ot the 
Provincial Government. 

It was not without surprise that Don Miguel observed this. The Comanches, 
however, faithfully fulfilled their compact, and the ladies were at once set at liberty. 
The Indians, who had surprised their camp, and seized tl.em in ttie same way as 
they had done the hunters : that is to say, the camp was invaded simultaneously 
on all sides. 

After the moments given up to the happiness of seeing his daughter again safe 
and sound, Don Miguci lesolved to make a last attempt with Unicorn in favour of 
the unhappy men wfio remained in his hands. Tne chief listened with deference, 
and let him speak without interruption ; then he replied with a smile whose expres- 
sion the haciendero tried in vain to explain. 

“ Unicorn consents to accept a ransom for them, instead of making tb.cm slaves. 
My fati'er can himself tell them this good news.” 

“ Thanks, chief,” Don Miguel answered. “ The nobility of your character touches 
my heart: I shall not forget it. Be persuaded that, under all circumstances, I shall 
be happy to prove to you how grateful I am.” 

The chief bowed gracefully and withdrew. Don Miguel repeated to his com- 
panions the conversation he liad held with Unicorn, and the promise he had made 
with respect to them. This restored them all their courage ; and with the most 
affectionate words and marks of tlie liveliest joy, they thanked the haciendero for the 


1 hd limit oj the Wild Horses. 


55 


nttcmpt he had made in their favour. In fact, tVanks to the promise of liberatingf 
them for a ransom at the end of a week, and treating them well during" the period of 
their captivity, there was no'hing so very terrifying about the prospect. 

Don Miguel, however, was anx ous to retire ; so he took leave of his companions 
and rejoined the chief. Tne latter repeated his assurance that the prisoners should 
be free within a week, if they consented each to pay a ransom of one thousand 
piastres, which was a trifle. He assured the haciendero that he was at liberty to 
withdraw whenever he pleased. 

Don Miguel did not allow the invitation to be repeated. His friends and himself 
immediately mounted their horses together with the I (dies, who were placed in the 
centre of the detachment ; and, after taking leave of Unicorn, the Mexicans dug their 
spurs into their horses and started at a gallop, glad to have got off so cheaply. The 
camp fires were soon left far behind them, and General Ibanez then approached his 
friend, and, bending down to his car, whisjiered, — 

Don Miguel, can the Comanches be our allies ? I fancy that they have this 
night given a bold push to the success of oiu entei prise.” 

“ I do not know,” the other said with a smile ; ” but at any rate, my dear general, 
they are very adroit foes.” 

” By Jove*! ” General Ibanez said, ” It must be confessed that these red devils 
have done us an immense service without suspecting it. It might be said that they 
acted under a knowledge of facts. This Unicorn, as the chief is called, is a precious 
man in certain circumstances. I am anxious to cultivate his acquaintance, for no 
one knows what may happen.” 

“You are always jesting, general. When will you be serious for once?” Don 
Miguel said with a smile. 

” What would you tiave, my friend ? We are at this moment staking our heads 
in a desperate game, so let us at any rate keep our gaiety. If we are conquered it 
will be time enough then to be sad.” 

“ Yes, your philosophy is not without a certain dose of fatalism, which renders it 
more valuable to me. 1 am happy to see you in this good temper, especially at a 
moment when we are preparing to play our last card.” 

” All is not desperate yet, and I have a secret foreboding, on the contrary, that all 
is for the best. Our friend, the TraiUhunter, I feel convinced, has something to do, 
if not all, with what has happened to us.” 

” Do you believe it ? ” Don Miguel asked quickly. 

” I am certain of it. You know as well as I do these Indios Bravos, and the im- 
placable hatred they have vowed against us. People do not lay aside in a moment 
a hatted which has endured for ages. The Comanches know the impor'ance of the 
prisoners they have seized. How is it they consent so easily to give them up for a 
trifling ransom ? There is some inexplicable mystery in all this.” 

” Which is very easy to explain, though,” a laughing voice interrupted from 
behind the shrubs. 

The two Mexicans started, and checked their horses. A man leaped from a 
thicket, and suddenly appeared in the centre of t e track the little band of hunters was 
following. The latter, belicv ng in a fresh attack, seized their weapons. 

*• Stop ! ” Don Miguel said sharply, ” the man is alone. Let me speak with him.” 

Each waited witli Iris hand on his weapon. 

” Hold 1 ” Don Miguel continued. ‘‘ Who are you, my master? ” 

” Do you not recognise me, Don Miguel ? and must 1 really tell you my name ? ” 
the stranger answered. 

” The Trail-hunter ! ” Don Miguel exclaimed. 

” Himself,” Valentine continued. ” Hang it all 1 you take a long time to re- 
cognise your fi lends.” 


5<5 


The Trail- Hunter. 


“ You will forgive us when you know all that has happened to us, and how much 
we must keep on our 'uard.” 

“ Confound it ! ’’ Valentine said laughingly, as he regulated his pace by the trot of 
the horses, — do you fancy you are going to tell me any news ? Did you not icaily 
suspect fiom what quarter tfie blow came ? ” 

“ What! ” Don Miguel exclaimed in surpiise, “ you ” 

“ Who else Lut 1? Do you think the Spaniards are such friends cf the Indians 
that the latter would treat them so kind I v ? ” 

I was sure of it,” General Ibanez affirmed. “ I guessed it at the first moment.’^ 

“Good heavens! nothing was more simple. Your position, through Re i Cedar’s 
tieachery, was most critical, i wished to give you the time to turn round by remov- 
ing, for a few days the obstacles in your way.” 

“You could not have managed better,” exclaimed the general. 

“Oh 1 ” Don Miguel said with a reproachful accent, “ why did you hide it 
from me ? ” 

“ For a very simple reason, I wished that in these circumstances your will 
should be free. Had I told you of my plan, it is certain that you would have 
opposed it. You are a man of honour, Don Miguel.” 

“ M.. friend ” 

“ Answer me. Had I explained to you the plan I formed, what would you 
have done ? ” 

“ I should have refused.” 

“ There ! you see that I acted wisely in saying nothing to you. In that way 
your honour is protected, and your conscience easy.” 

“That is true: still ” 

“You must now act at once.” 

“ I ask nothing better. All is ready. Our men are warned, and they will 
rise at the first signal.” 

“ It must be given immediately.” 

“ I only ask the time to leave my daughter at the hacienda; then, accom- 
panied by my friends, I will march on Paso, while General Ibanez, at the head 
of a second band, seizes Santa Fe.” 

“ '1 he plan is well conceived. Can you count on the persons who follow 
you ? ” 

“ Yes ; they are all my relatives or friends.” 

“ All for the best. Let us not go further. We are here at the place where 
the roads part : let your horses breathe awhile, and I will tell you a plan I have 
formed, and which, I think, will please you.” 

The small party halted. The horsemen dismounted, and lay down on the 
grass. As all knew of the conspiracy formed by Don Miguel, and we.e his 
accomplices in different degrees, this halt did not surprise them, for they sus- 
pected thit ihe moment for action was not far off, and that their chief doubtless 
wished to take his final measures before throwing off the mask, and proclaim- 
ing the independence of New Mexico. On inviting them to hunt the wild 
horses, Don Miguel had not concealed from them Red Cedar’s treachery, and 
the necessity in which he found himself of dealing a great blow, if he did not 
wish all to be hopelessly lost. 

Valentine led the haciendero and the ^-eneral a short distance apart. When 
they were out of ear-shot the hunter carefully examined the nei^'hbourhood • 
then within a few minutes rejoined his friends, whom his way of^ actim^ coni 
siderably perplexed. 

“ Caballeros,” he said to them, “ what do you intend doing P In your position 
minutes are ages. Are you ready to make your pronunciamento P ” 


Tht Hunt of the Wild ffcrses. 


57 


“ Yrs,” they answered. 

“This is what 1 propose. Yon, Don Miguel, will proceed direct on Paso. 
At about half a league from that town you will find Curumilla, with twentv of 
the best rifles on the frontier. These men, in whom you can trust, are Canadian 
and Indian hunters devoted to me. They will form the nucleus of a band 
sufficient for you to seize on Paso without striking a blow, as it is only de- 
fended by a garrison of forty soldiers. Does that plan suit you ? “ 

“ Perfectl)^’ 

“ As for you, gen eral, your men have beer echelonned by my care in parties 
of ten and twenty along the Santa Fe road, up to two leagues of the city, so 
that you will only have to pick them uo. In this way you will find yourself, 
within three hours, at the head of five hundred resolute and well-armed 
men.” 

“Why, Valentine, my friend,” the general said laughingly, “ do you know 
there is the stuff in you to make a parc'san chief, and that I am almost jealous 
of you.” 

“ On ! you would be wrong, general : f assure you I am most disinterested 
in the affair.” 

“ Well, my friend, I know it : you are a free desert hunter, caring very little 
for our paltry schemes.” 

“Thanks, Don Miguel: you have judged me correctly. Come, gentlemen, 
to horse, and start. We must separate here — ^you, Don Miguel, to proceed by 
the right-hand track to Paso; you, general, by the left-hand one to Santa Fe ; 
while I, with Don Pablo and his sister, proceed straight on till we reach the 
Hacienda de la Noria.” 

“To horse, then!” the haciendero shouted resolutely; “and may God 
defend the right ! ” 

“ Yes,” the general added ; “ for from this moment the revolution is com- 
menced.” 

The three men returned to their friends. Don Miguel said a few words to 
his children, and in an instant the whole party were in the saddle. 

“ The die is cast; ” Valentine exclaimed, “ May Heaven keep you, gentle- 
men ! ” 

“ Forward ! ” Don Miguel commanded. 

“ Forward I ” General Ibanez shouted, as he rushed in the opposite direc- 
tion. 

Valentine looked after his departing friends. Their black outlines were 
soon blended with the darkness, and then the footfalls of their horses died out 
in the night. Valentine gave a sigh and raised his head. 

“God will protect them,” he murmured; then turning to the two young 
peo; D, ‘Come on, children,” he said. 

They started, and for some minutes kept silence. Valentine was too busy 
in thought to address his companions ; and yet Dona Clara and Don Pablo, 
whose curiosity was excited, were burning to question him. At lengt.i the girl, 
by whose side the hunter marched, bent down to him. 

“ Mv friend,” she said to him in her soft voice, “ what is taking plaix; ? Why 
has my father left us, instead of coming to his house ? ” 

“ Yes,” Don Pablo added, “ l.e seemed agitated when b» parted from us. 
His voice was stern, his words sharp. What is happening, my friend.' “ 

“ i implore you, my fr end,” Dona Clara continued, “ do not leave us in this 
nioi lal anxiety. Tlie announcemsnr of a misfortune would certainly cause us 
less p lin tnan the perplevhy i.i which we are.” 

“ Why force me to speak, my children ? ’’ the hunter answered in a saddened 


The Tr ail- Hunter, 


c8 


voice. “The secret you ash of me is not mine. If your father did not impart 
his plans to you, it was doubtless because weighty reasons oppose it.” 

“ But I am not a child,” Don Pablo exclaimed. “ It seems to me that my 
father ought not to have thus held his confidence from me.” 

“ Do not accuse your father,” Valentine answered ; “ probably he could not 
have acted otherwise.” 

“Valentine, Valentine! I will not accept those poor reasons,” the young 
man urged. “ In the name of our friendship I insist on your explaining your- 
self.” 

“ Silence 1 ” the hunter suddenly interrupted him. “ I hear suspicious sound" 
around us.” 

The three travellers stopped and listened, but all was quiet. The hacienda 
was about five hundred yards at the most from the spot where they halted. 
Don Pablo and Dona Clara heard nothing, but Valentine made them a sign to 
remain quiet. 

“ Follow me,” he said, “ Something is happening here which I cannot 
make out ; but it alarms me.” 

The young people obeyed without hesitation ; but they had only gone a few 
paces when Valentine stopped again. 

“ Are your weapons loaded ? ” he sharply asked. 

“ Yes.” 

All at once the gallop of a horse urged to its utmost speed was audible. 

“ Attention ! ” Valentine muttered. 

Still the horseman rapidly advanced, and soon came up to the travellers. 
Suddenly Valentine bounded like a panther, seized the horse by the bridle, and 
stopped it. 

“ Who are you, and where are you going?” he shouted. 

“ Heaven be' praised 1 ” the latter said, not replying to the question. “ Per- 
haps I shall be able to save you. Fly, fly, in all haste ! ” 

“ Father Seraphin I ” Valentine said with stupor, as he lowered his pistol. 
“ What has happened ? ” 

“ Fly, fly ! ” the missionary repeated, who seemed ^ prev to the most pro- 
found terror. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE ABDUCTION. 

Red Cedar and Fray Ambrosio had not remained inactive since their last inter- 
view up to the day when Don Miguel set out to hunt the wild horses. These 
two fellows had manoeuvred with extreme skill. Fray Ambrosio, all whose 
avaricious instincts had been aroused since he had so artfully stolen the secret 
of his placer. In a few days he found himself at the head of one hundred and 
twenty adventurers, of whom he felt the more sure as the secret of the expedi- 
tion was concealed from them, and they fancied they formed a war-party 
eng iged to go scalp-hunting. 

Fray Ambrosio, apprehending the effects of mezeal and pulque on his men, 
had made them bivouac at the entrance of the desert, at a sufficiently great 
distance from the Paso del Norte to prevent them easdy going there. Still 
Fray Ambrosio, so soon as his expedition was completely organised, had only 
one desire — to start as speedily as possible ; but for two days Red Cedar was 


The Al duction. 


59 


not to be found. At length Fray Amtrosio succeeded in catching him just as 
he wns entering his jacal. 

“ What has become of you ? ” he asked him. 

“ What does that concern you ? ” the sqaatter asked brutally. 

“ I do not say it does : still, connected as we are at this moment, it would be 
as well for me to know where to find you when 1 want you. Wnen can we 
start ? ” 


“ At once, but before starting,” the squatter continued, becoming serious 
again, “ we have something left to do here. What about Dona Clara, do you 
lancy vve are going to leave her behind ? ” 

“ Idum t Then you still think of that ? ” 

‘‘ Bv Jove ! more than ever.” 

“ She has gone with her father to a hunt of wild horses.” 

“ The hunt is over, and they are on their return.” 

” You are well informed.” 

” It is my trade. Come, do you still mean serving me ?” 

” If you wish it, it must be so,” Fray Ambrosio said with a sigh. 

” Are we going to begin again ?” the squatter asked in a menacing voice as 
he rose. 

“ No, no, it is unnecessary,” the monk exclaimed. ” I shall expect you.” 

On which the two accomplices separated. All happened as had been 
arranged between them. At nine o’clock Red Cedar reached the little gate, 
which was opened to him by Fray Ambrosio, and the squatter entered the 
hacienda at the head of his three sons and a party of bandits. The peons, 
surprised in their sleep, were bound before they even knew what was taking 
place. 

" Now,” Red Cedar said, ” we are masters of the place, the girl can come as 
soon as she likes.” 

” Eh ? ” the monk went on. ** All is not finished yet. Don Miguel is a 
resolute man, and is well accompanied: he will not let his daughter be carried 
off under his eyes without defending her,” 

But the bandits had forgotten Father Seraphin. The missionary, aroused by 
the unusual noise he heard in the hacienda, had hastily risen. He had heard 
the few words exchanged between the accomplices, and they were sufficient to 
make him guess the fearful treachery they meditated. Only listening to his 
heart, the missionary glided out into the corral, saddled a horse, and opening a 
door, of which he had a key, so that he could enter or leave the hacienda as 
his duties required, he started at full speed in the direction he supposed the 
hunters must follow in returning to the hacienda. Unfortunately Father 
Seraphin had been unable to effect his flight unheard by the squatter. 

“ Malediction I ” Red Cedar shouted, as he rushed, rifle in hand, toward a 
window, which he dashed out with his fist, “ we are betrayed.” 

The bandits rushed in disorder into the corral where their horses were tied 
up, and leaped into their saddles. At this moment a shadow flitted across the 
plain in front of the squatter, who rapidl/ shouldered his rifle and fired. Then 
he went out : a stifled cry reached his ear, but the person still went on. 

“ No matter,” the squatter muttered ; “ that fine bird has lead in its wing. 
Sharp, sharp, my men, on the trail ! ” 

And all the bandits rushed off in pursuit of the fugitive. 

Father Seraphin had fallen in a fainting condition at Valentine’s feet. 

Good heavens!” the hunter exclaimed in despair, “what can have 
happened ? ” 

And he gently carried the missionary into a ditch that ran by the side of the 


6o 


The Trail- Hunter . 


road. Father Seraphin had his shoulder fractured, and the blood poured in a 
stream from the won d. The hunter looked around him ; but at this moment a 
confi sed sound could be heard like the rolling of distant thunder. 

“ W« must fall like brave men, Don Pablo that is all,” he said sharply. 

“ Be at your ease,” the young man answered coldly. 

Dona Clara was pale and trembling. 

“ Come,’’ Valentine said. 

And with a movement rapid as thought, he bounded on to the missionary’s 
horse.' The three fugitives started at full speed. This flight lasted a quarter of 
an hour, and then Valentine stopped. He dismounted, gave the young people 
a signal to wait, lay down on the ground, and began crawling on his hands and 
knees, gliding like a serpent through the long grass that concealed him, and 
stopping at intervals to look around him, and listen attentively to the sounds of 
the desert. Suddenly he rushed towards his companions, seized the horses by 
the bridle, and dragged them behind a mound, where they remained concealed, 
breathless and unable to speak. 

A formidable noise of horses was audible. Some twenty black shadows 
passed like a torna io within ten paces cf their hiding-place, not seeing them in 
consequence of the darkness. Valentine drew a deep breath. 

“ Ali hope is not lost.” he muttered. 

He waited anxiously for five minutes : their pursuers were going further and 
further away. Presently the sound of their horses’ hoofs ceased to disturb the 
silence of the night. 

“ To horse! ” Valentine said. 

They leaped into their saddles and started again, in the direction of the 
Paso. 

“ Loosen your bridles,” the hunter said: “ more still, more stiil— we are not 
moving.” 

Suddenly a loud neigh was borne on the breeze to the ears of the 
fugitives. 

“ We are lost,” Valentine muttered. “ They have found our trail.” 

Red Cedar was too old a hand on the prairie to be long thrown out: he 
soon perceived that he was mistaken, and was now turning back, quite certain 
this time of holding the trail. Then began one of those fabulous races which 
oniy the dwellers on the prairie can witness. This pursuit had already lasted 
two hours, and the fugitives had not lost an inch of ground. Dona Clara with 
her hair untied and floating in the breeze, with sparkling eye and closely- 
pressed lips, constantly urged her horse on with voice and hand. 

All at once Valentine started, for their pursuers were rapidly approaching. 

” Listen,” he said. ” Do you two let yourselves be captured. I swear to you 
that if I remain at liberty I will deliver you, even if they hide yoti in the bowels 
of the earth.” Without replying Don Pablo dismounted, and Valentine leaped 
on to his horse. ” Hope for the best ! ” he snouted hoarsely. 

Don Pablo, so soon as he was alone wjth his sister, made her dismount, 
seated her at the foot of a tree, and stood before her with a pistol in eitiier 
hand. He had not to wait long. 

*• Surrender ! ” Red Cedar siiouted in a panting voice. 

“Here is my answer,” said Don Pablo, smiling disdainfully, and with two 
pistol-shots he laid two bandits low; then he th»ew av/ay his useless wearjous, 
and crossing his arms said ; “ Do what you please now ; I am avenged.”' 

” Kill that do.g! ” shouted Red Cedar, as he bounded with fury. 

Shaw rushed toward the young man, threw his nervous arms aro'tnd him 
and whispered in his ear, — * 


The Revolt. 




“ Do not resist, but fall as if dead.” 

Don PabJo mechanically followed his advice. 

“ It is all over, ” said Shaw. “ Poor devil ! he did not cling to life.” 

He returned his knife to his belt, threw the supposed corpse over his shoulder, 
and dragged it into a ditch. At the sight of her brother’s body, whom she 
supposed to be dead. Dona Clara uttered a shriek of despair and fainted. Red 
Cedar laid the maiden across his saddle-bow, and the whole band, starting at 
a gallop, were soon lost in the darkness. Don Pablo then rose slowly, and took 
a sorrowful glance around. 

“ My poor sister,” he murmured, ” Valentine alone can save her.” Then per. 
ceiving her horse near him mounted, and proceeded toward the Paso, asking 
himself this question, which he found it impossible to answer; “ Uut why did 
not that man kill me ? ” 

A few paces from the village he perceived two men halting on the road, and 
conversing with the greatest animation. They hurriedly advanced toward him, 
and the young man uttered a cry of surprise on recognising them. They were 
Valentine and Curumilla. 


CHAPTER XV:. 

THE REVOLT. 

Don Miguel Zarate had marched rapidly on the Paso, and an hour after 
leaving Valentine he saw flashing in the distance the lights that shone in the 
village windows. The greatest calmness prevailed in the vicinity : only at 
times could be heard the barking of the dogs, or the savage miawling of the 
wild cats hidden in the shrubs. At about one hundred yards from the village a 
man suddenly rose before the small party. 

“ Wo goes there ? ” he shouted. 

** Mejico y independcncia,** the haciendero answered. 

“ Que gente?” the stranger continued. 

“ Don Miguel Zarate.” 

At these words twenty men hidden in the brushwood rose suddenly, and 
throwing their rifles on their shoulders, advanced to meet the horsemen. They 
were the hunters commanded by Curumilla. 

Well, what is the matter, chief ? Have you seen anything alarming ? ” 
Don Miguel asked the Indian. “ Is there anything new?” 

“No,” said Curumilla shaking his head; “and yet I have a feeling of 
treachery.” 

“Howso.^” 

“ I cannot tell you. Apparently everything is as usual ; still there is some- 
thing which is not so. Look you, it is scarce ten o’clock : generally at that 
hour all the mesons are full, the ventas are crammed with gam >iers and 
drinkers, the streets flocked with promenaders. This night there .seems nothing 
of the sort; all is closed — the town seems abandoned. This tranquillity is 
factitious. I am alarmed.” 

Don Miguel was involuntarily struck by the chief’s remarks. The hacien- 
dero ordered his party to halt, assembled his friends, and held a council. All 
were of opinion that, before venturing to advance further, they should send as 
ecout a clever man to traverse the town. 

One of the hunters offered himself. The conspirators concealed themselves 


62 


The Trail-Hunter. 


on either side the road, and awaited, lying in the shrubs, the return of their 
messenger. He was a half-breed, Simon Munez by name, to whom the Indians 
had given the sobriquet of “ Dog-face.” He was short and clumsy, but endowed 
with marvellous strength; he was an emissary of Red Cedar, and had only 
joined the hunters in order to betray them. 

When he left the conspirators he proceeded toward the village whistling. He 
had scarce taken a dozen steps into the first street ere a door opened, and a 
man appeared. This man stepped forward and addressed the hunter. 

“ You whistle very late, my friend.” 

“ I whistle to wake those who are as’ieep,” the half-breed made answer. 

** Come in,” the man continued. 

Dog-face went in, and the door closed upon him. He remained in the 
house half an hour, then went out, and hurried back along the road he had 
traver.'ed. 

Red Cedar, who wished before all to avenge himself upon Don Miguel Zarata, 
had discovered, through Fray Ambrosio, the conspirators’ new plan. Without 
loss of time he had taken his measures in consequence, and had managed so 
well that, although the general, the governor, and the criminal judge were 
prisoners, Don Miguel must succumb in the contest he was preparing to pro- 
voke. Fray Ambrosio, to his other qualities, joined that of being a listener at 
doors. In spite of the distrust which his patron was beginning to display to- 
ward him on Valentine’s recommendation,] he had surprised a conversation 
between Don Miguel and General Ibanez. 

Dog-face rejoined his companions after an hour’s absence. 

“ Well ? ” Don Miguel asked him. 

*' All is quiet,” the half-breed answered ; “ the inhabitants have retired to 
their houses, and everybody is asleep.” 

“ You noticed nothing of a suspicious nature? ” 

I went through the town from one end to the other, and saw nothing.” 

“ We can advance, then ? ” 

“ In all security : it will only be a promenade.” 

On this assurance the conspirators regained their courage, Curumilla was 
treated as a visionary, and the order was given to advance 

The plan of the conspirators was very simple. They would march directly on 
the Cabildo (Town-hall), seize it, and proclaim a Provisional Government. Under 
present circumstances nothing appeared to be easier. Don Miguel and his 
band entered the Paso, and nothing occurred to arouse their suspicions. The 
conspirators advanced into the town v/ith their rifle barrels thrust forward, with 
eye and ear on the watch, and ready to fire at the slightest alarm ; but nothing 
stirred. As Curumilla had observed, the town was too quiet. This 
tranquillity hid something extraordinary, and must conceal the tempest. In 
spite of himself Don Miguel felt a secret apprehension which he could not 
master. 

In the meanwhile the conspirators advanced. They had nearly reached the 
heart of the town ; they were at this moment in a little, dirty, and narrow 
street, called the Calle de San Isidro, which opens out on the Plaza Mayor, 
when suddenly a dazzling light illumined the darkness; torches flashed from all 
the windows; and Don Miguel saw that the two ends of the street in which he 
was were guarded by strong detachments of cavalry. 

“ Treachery 1 ” the conspirators shouted in terror, 

Curumilla bounded on Dog-face, and buried his knife between his shoulders. 
The half-breed fell in a lump, quite dead, and not uttering a cry. Don Miguel 
judged the position at the first glance. 


The Revolt. 




“ Let us die ! ’’ he said. 

“We will ! ” the conspirators resolutely responded. 

Curumilla with the butt of his rifle beat in the door of the nearest house, and 
rushed in, the conspirators following him. They were soon intrenched on the 
roof. In Mexico all the houses have flat roofs, formed like terraces. 

The troops advanced from each end of the street, while the roofs of all 
the houses were occupied by soldiers. The battle was about to begin between 
earth and heaven, and promised to be terrible. At this moment General 
Guerrero, who commanded the troops, bade them halt, and advanced alone to 
the house on the top of which the conspirators were intrenched. Don Miguel 
beat up the guns of his comrades, who aimed at the officer. 

“ Wait,” he said to them ; and addressing the General, “ What do you 
want ? ” he shouted. 

“ I offer you life and liberty if you consent to surrender your leader,” he 
said. 

“ Never ! ” the conspirators shouted in one voice. 

“ It is my place to answer,” Don Miguel said ; and then turning to the 
General, What assurance do you give me that these conditions will be 
honourably carried out ? ” 

“ My word of honour as a soldier,” the General answered. 

“Very good,” Don Miguel went on; “I accept. All the men who 
accompany me will leave the town.” 

“ No, we will not ! ” the conspirators shouted as they brandished their 
weapons ; “ we would sooner die,” 

“ Silence 1 ” the haciendero said in a loud voice. “ I alone have the right 
to speak here, for I am your chief. The life of brave men like you must 
not be needlessly sacrificed. Go, I say ; I order you — I implore it of 
you,” he added with tears in his voice. “ Perhaps you will soon take your 
revenge.” 

The conspirators hung their heads mournfully. 

“ Well ? ” the General asked. 

“ My friends accept. I will remain alone here. If you break your word 1 
will kill myself.” 

The conspirators came one after the other to embrace Don Miguel, and then 
went down into the street without being in any way interfered with. Curumilla 
was the last to depart. 

“ All is not ended yet,” he said to Don Miguel. “ Koutonepi will save you, 
father.” 

“Chief,” the Spaniard said. “I leave my daughter to Valentine, Father 
Seraphin, and yourself. Watch over her; the poor child will soon have no 
father.” 

Curumilla embraced Don Miguel silently and retired. Don Miguel threw 
down his weapons and descended. 

“ I am your prisoner,” he said. 

General Guerrero bowed, and made him a sign to mount the horse a soldier 


had brought up. 

“ Where are we going? ” the haciendero said. 

“ To Santa Fe',’ the General answered, “ where you will be tried with General 
Ibanez, who will doubtless soon be a prisoner like yourself. 

“ Oh I ” Don Miguel muttered thoughtfully, “ who betrayed us this time?” 

“ It was still Red Cedar,” the General answered. 

A quarter of an hour later the prisoner left the Paso del Norte, escorted by a 
regin7ent of dragoons. When the last trooper had disappeared in the windings 


The Trail' Hunter, 


«■ 


of the road three men left the shrubs that concealed them, and stood like three 
phantoms in the midst of the desolate plain. 

“ Oh, heavens! ” Don Pablo cried in a heart-rending voice, “ my father, my 
sister — who will restore them to me ? ” 

“ I ! ” Valentine said in a grave voice, as he laid his hand on his shoulder, 
“ Am 1 not the Trail-hunter ? ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

EL RANCHO DEL COYOTE, 

About a month after the events we have described in the first part of this 
history, two horsemen, well mounted, and carefully wrapped in their cloaks, 
entered the town of Santa Fe between three and four o’clock in the 
afternoon. 

Santa Fe', the capital of New Mexico, is a pretty town, built in the midst of 
a laughing and fertile plain. One of its sides occupies the angle formed by a 
small stream ; it is surrounded by the adobe walls of the houses by which it is 
bordered. The entrance of each street is closed by stakes in the form of 
palisades ; and like the majority of towns in Spanish America, the houses, built 
only one story high in consequence of the earthquakes, are covered with 
terraces of well-beaten earth, called azoteas, which are a sufficient protection 
in this glorious climate, where the sky is constantly pure. 

An event of immense importance had recently taken place in this town. The 
two leaders of the conspiracy lately attempted had been transferred to safe 
keeping at Santa Fc. 

Don Miguel and General Ibanez had not pined long in prison. A court- 
martial, hurriedly convened, had assembled under the presidency of the 
governor, and the two conspirators were unanimously condemned to be shot. 

The haciendero, through his name and position, and especially on account 
of his fortune, had numerous partisans in the province ; hence the announce- 
ment of the verdict had caused a profound stupor, which almost immediately 
changed into anger, among the rich land-owners and the Indians of New 
Mexico. A dull agitation prevailed throughout the country. The con- 
demned men, whom the governor had not yet dared to place in capilla, were 
still provisionally detained in the prison. 

The two men of whom we have spoken rode without stopping through the 
streets of the town, proceeding toward an unpretending rancho, built on the 
banks of the stream, at the opposite end of the town from that by which they 
entered. 

“ Well,” one of the horsemen said, addressing his comrade, “ was I not 
right ? You see everyone is asleep ; there is nobody to watch us. We have 
arrived at a capital moment.” 

” Bah 1 ” the other answered, “ do you believe that ? In towns there is 
always somebody watching to see what does not concern him.” 

“ That is possible,” the first said, shrugging his shoulders disdainfully. “ I 
care about it as little as I do for a string-halt horse.” 

“ And I too,” the other said sharply. “ Do you imagine that I care more 
than you do for the gossips? But stay, this must be the filthy tenement, ur'ess 
1 am mistaken.” 

It is the house. I only hope the scamp, Aadres Garote, has not forgotterj 


El Rancho del Coyote. 




the meeting I gave him. Wait a minute, senor padre ; I will give the agreed 
on signal.” 

“ It is not worth while, Red Cedar. You know that I am always at your 
excellency’s orders when you please to give them,” a mocking voice said from 
inside the rancho, the door of which immediately opened to give admission to 
the new comers, and allowed a glimpse of the tall figure and intelligent face of 
Andres Garote himself. 

*'Ave Maria purissima I ” the travellers said. 

“5m peccado concebida 1 '' Andres replied taking the horses to the corral 
vhere he unsaddle i them and gave each a truss of alfalfa. 

The travellers, fatigued by a long journey, sat down on butaccas arranged 
ajjainst the wall, and awaited the host’s return, while wiping their dank 
foreheads and twisting a maize cigarette between their fingers. 

“ I did not expect you yet,” he said as he entered; “ but you are welcome. 
Is there anything new ? ” 

“ My fai h, I know nothing but the affair that brings us. It is rather serious, 
I fancy,” Red Cedar remarked. 

*'Caspita/ what vivacity, compadre!” Andres exclaimed. “But, before 
talking, I hope you will take some refreshment at any rate. There is nothing 
like a cup of mezcal or pulque to clear the brain.” 

“ Not to forget,” Fray Ambrosio said, “ that it is infernally hot, and my 
tongue is glued to my palate.” 

“ Cuerpo (le Dios I ” Andres said as he went to look for a bottle among several 
others arranged on a sort of bar, and placed it before the travellers. “ Pay 
attention to that, senor padre ; for it is serious.” 

“ Give me the remedy, then, chatterer,” the monk replied, as he held out his 
glass. 

The mezcal, liberally poured out, was swallowed at a draught by the three 
men, who put back their glasses on the table with a “ hum ” of satisfaction. 

“ And now suppose we talk seriously,” Red Cedar said. 

“ At your orders, senores caballeros,” Andres replied, “ Still if you prefer a 
hand at monte, you know that I have cards at your service.” 

“ Presently, Senor Andres, presently. Everything will have its turn. Let us 
first settle our little business,” Fray Ambrosio judiciously observed. 

The three men made thefnselves as comfortable as they could, and Red 
Cedar, after casting a suspicious glance around him, at length took the word. 

“ You know, caballeros,” he said, “ how, when we thought we had nothing to 
do but proceed straight to Apacheria, the sudden desertion of nearly all our 
gambusinos checked us. The position was most critical for us, and the abduc- 
tion of Dona Clara compelled us to take the utmost precautions.” 

“ That is true,” Andres Garote observed. 

“ Although certain influential persons protect us under the rose,” Red Cedar 
continued, “ we are compelled to keep in the shade as far as we can. I there- 
fore sought to remedy the gravest points in the business. In the first place, 
the girl was hidden in an inaccessible retreat, and then I began looking for 
comrades to take the place of those who abandoned us so suddenly.” 

“ Well ? ” the two men interrupted him sharply. 

“At this moment,” Red Cedar calmly continued, “when the placers of Cali- 
fornia call away all the men belonging to the profession, it was certainly no 
easy task to collect one hundred men of the sort we want, the more so as we 
shall have to fight the Indios Bravos in our expedition.” 

“I hope. Red Ctdar," Fray Ambrosio asked, “that you have not spoken 
about the placer to your men ? ” 


66 


The Trail- Hunter 


“ Do you take me for a fool ? In the first place, 1 do not wish to make the 
fortune of the Government while making our own. I have assembled the finest 
collection of picaros ever brought together for an expedition, all food for the 
gallows, ruined by nionte, who do not care for hard blows, and on whom I can 
fully count, while being very careful not to enlighten them as to the spot 
whither we propose leading them ; for, in that case, I know as well as you do 
that they would abandon us without the slightest scruples.” 

“ Nothing can be more just,” Fray Ambrosio answered. “ I am quite of 
your opinion. Red Cedar.” 

“ We have not an instant to lose,” the squatter continued. “ This very 
evening, or to-morrow at the latest, we must set out. Who knows whether we 
have not already delaved our start too long ? Perhaps one of those European 
vagabonds may have discovered our placer.” 

Fray Ambrosio cast a suspicious glance at his partner. 

“ Hum ! ” he muttered, “ that would be very unlucky, for hitherto the 
business has been well managed.” 

“ For that reason,” Red Cedar hastened to add, " I only suggest a doubt — 
nothing more.” 

“ Come, Red Cedar,” the monk said, “ you have yourself narrated all the 
embarrassments of our position. Why, then, complicate the gravity of our 
situation still more ? ” 

“ I do not understand you, senor padre. Be good enough to explain yourself 
more clearly.” 

“ I allude to the young girl you carried off.” 

“ Ah, ah ! ” Red Cedar said, with a grin. “ is that where the shoe pinches 
you, comrade? I am vexed at it; but I will not answer your question. If I 
carried off that woman, it was because I had pressing reasons to do so.” 

“ Still it appears to me that, regarding the terms on which we stand to each 
other ” 

“ What can there be in common between the abduction of Dona Clara and 
the discovery of a placer in the heart of Apacheria? ” 

“ Still ” the monk insisted. 

“ Enough of that ! ” Red Cedar shouted. “ I will not hear another word on 
this subject.” 

At this moment two smart blows were heard on the carefully-bolted door. 

The three men started, and Red Cedar broke off. 

” Shall I open ? ” Andres asked. 

“ Yes,” Fray Ambrosio answered ; “ hesitation or refusal might give an 
alarm.” 

Red Cedar consented with a toss of the head, and the ranchero went with an 
ill grace toward the door, which was being struck as if about to be beaten in. 


CHAPTER XVIIU 

THE CUCHILLADA, 

So soon as the door was opened two men appeared. The first was Curumilla ; 
the other, wrapped up in a large cloak, and with his broad-brimmed hat drawn 
over his eyes, entered the room, making the Indian chief a sign to follow him. 
The latter was evidently a Mexican. 

“ Santas tardes ! ” he said, as he raised his hand. 


The Cuchillada, 


^7 


“ Dios las de a usted buenas ! ” the rancher© answered. “ What shall I serve to 
your excellencies ? ” 

“ A bottle of mezcal,” the stranger said. 

The new comers seated themselves at a table at the end of the room, at a 
spot which the light reached in such a weakened state that it was almost dark. 
When they were served each poured out a glass of liquor, which he drank ; and 
leaning his head on his hands, the Mexican appeared plunged in deep thought, 
not occupying himself the least in the world about the persons near him. 
Curumilla crossed his arms on his chest, half closed his eyes, and remained 
motionless. 

At length Red Cedar, doubtless more impatient than his comrades, and 
wishful to know at once what he had to expect, rose, filled his glass, and turned 
toward the strangers. 

“ Senores caballeros,” he said, imitating that exquisite politeness which the 
Mexicans possess in the highest degree, “ I have the honour of drinking to your 
health.’' 

At this invitation Curumilla remained insensible as a granite statue : his 
companion slowly raised his head, fixed his eye for a moment on the speaker, 
and answered in a loud and firm voice, — 

“ It is needless, senor, for I shall not drink to yours.” 

Fray Ambrosio rose violently. 

“ What do you say? ” he exclaimed in a threatening voice. “ Do you mean 
to insult us ? ” 

“ There are people whom a man cannot insult,” the stranger continued, 
“ Remember this, senor padre, I do not wish to have any dealings with you.” 

“Why so ?” 

“ Because I do not please, that is all. Now, gentlemen, do not trouble your* 
selves about me, I beg, but continue your conversation : it was most interesting 
when I arrived. You were speaking, I believe, about an expedition you are 
preparing : there was a question, too, I fancy, when I entered, about a girl your 
worthy friend or partner, I do not know which he is, carried off with your 
assistance. Do not let me disturb you. I should, on the contrary, be delighted 
to learn what you intend doing with that unhappy young creature.” 

No words could render the feeling of stupor and terror which seized on the 
three partners at this crushing revelation of their plans. 

But Red Cedar and Fray Ambrosio were men too hardened in iniquity for 
any event, however grave in its nature, to crush them for long. The first 
moment past they recovered themselves, and amazement gave way to fury. 
The monk drew from his vaquera boot a knife, and posted himself before the 
door to prevent egress ; while Red Cedar, with frowning brow and a machete 
in his hand, advanced resolutely toward the table, behind which their bold 
adversary, standing with folded arms, seemed to defy them by his ironical 
smile. 

“ Whoever you may be,” Red Cedar said, stopping two paces from his 
opponent, “chance has made you master of a secret that kills, and you 
shall die.” 

“ Do you really believe that I owe a knowledge of your secrets to chance?” 
the other said. 

“ Defend yourself,” Red Cedar howled furiously, “ if you do not wish me tO 
assassinate you; for con mil diabhs ! I shall not hesitate, I warn you.” 

“ I know it,” the stranger replied quietly. “ I shall not be the first person tQ 
'frhom that has happened ; the Sierra Madre and El Bolson de Mapiini havQ 
often heard the agonising cries of your victims,” 


68 


The Trail- Hunter. 


At this allusion to his frightful trade, the squatter yelled in a choking voice — 

“ You lie ! I am a hunter.” 

“ Of scalps,” the stranger immediately retorted, “ unless you have given up 
that lucrative and honourable profession since your last expedition to the 
Coras.” 

” Oh ! ” the squatter shouted, with an indescribable burst of fury, “ he’s a 
coward who hides his face while uttering such words.” 

” The stranger shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and let the folds of 
his mantle fall sharply. 

“ Do you recognise me, Red Cedar, since your conscience has not yet 
whispered my name to you ? ” 

” Oh ! ” the three men exclaimed in horror, and instinctively recoiling, 
“ Don Pablo de Zarate ! ” 

“ Yes,” the young man continued, “ Don Pablo, who has come, Red Cedar, to 
ask of you an account of his sister, whom you carried off.” 

” Ah ! ” said Red Cedar, in a hollow voice, ” do the dead, then, leave the 
tomb ? ” 

” Yes,” the young man shouted loudly, “they leave the tomb to tear your 
victims from you. Red Cedar, restore me my sister.” 

The squatter leaped like a hyena on the young man, brandishing his machete. 

” Dog ! ” he yelled, ” I will kill you a second time.” 

But his wrist was suddenly seized by a hand of iron, and the bandit tottered 
back to the wall of the rancho, against which he was forced to lean, lest he 
should roll on the ground. Curumilla, who had hitherto remained an impas- 
sive witness of the scene that took place before him, had thought the moment 
for interference had arrived, and had sharpiy hurled him back. The squatter, 
with eyes injected with blood, and lips clenched by rage, looked around him 
with glaring worthy of a wild beast. 

” Red Cedar,” repeated Don Pablo, in a calm voice, ” give me back my 
sister.” 

” Never ! ” the squatter answered in a voice choked by rage. 

In the meanwhile the monk and the ranchero had treacherously approached 
the young man, watching for the propitious moment to fall on him. The five 
men assembled in this room offered a strange and sinister scene by the un- 
certain light that filtered through the windows, as each stood with his hand on 
his weapon, ready to kill or be killed, and only waiting the opportunity to rush 
on his enemy. There was a moment of supreme silence. Assuredly these men 
were brave. At length Don Pablo spoke again. 

” Take care. Red Cedar,” he said. I have come to meet you alone and 
honourably. I have asked you for my sister several times, and you have not 
answered.” 

“ I will sell your sister to the Apaches 1 ” the squatter howled. ” As for you, 
accursed one, you shall not leave this room alive.” 

” The scoundrel is mad ! ” the young man said contemptuously. 

He fell back a pace, and then stopped. 

“Listen,” he continued. “ I will now retire, but we shall meet again; and 
woe to you then, for I shall be as pitiless to you as you have been. 

“ Oh ! you shall not go in that way, my master,” replied the squatter, who 
had regained all his boldness and impudence. “ Did I not tell you I would 
kill you ? ” ^ 

The young man fixed upon him a glance of undefinable expression, and 
crossed his arms boldly on his chest. 

“Try it,” he said in a voice rendered harsh by the furv br.ling in his heart. 


The Hunters. 


69 


Red Cedar uttered a yell of rage, and bounded on Don Pablo. The lattei 
calmly awaited the attack ; but so soon as the squatter was within reach, he 
suddenly took off his mantle, and threw it over his enemy’s head, who, blinded 
by the folds of the thick garment, rolled about on the ground, unable to free 
himself from the accursed cloth that held him like a net. 

At this moment Fray Ambrosio rushed upon him, trying to bury his knife in 
his chest. Feeling not the slightest alarm, Don Pablo seized his assailant’s 
wrist, and with a strength he was far from anticipating, twisted his arm so 
violently that his fingers opened, and he let the knife fall with a yell of pain, 
Don Pablo picked it up, and seized the monk by the throat. 

“ Listen, villain ! ” he said to him. “ I am master of your life. You betrayed 
my father, who took pity on you, and received you into his house. I could kill 
you, and perhaps ought to do so ; but it would be robbing the executioner. This 
gown, of which you are unworthy, saves your life; but I will mark you so that 
you shall never forget me.” 

And placing the point of the knife on the monk’s livid face, he made two 
gashes in the shape of a cross along the whole length and breadth of his face. 

“ We shall meet again,” he added in a thundering voice, as he threw the knifa 
away in disgust. 

By the aid of the ranchero Red Cedar presently succeeded in freeing himself 
from the folds of the cloak that embarrassed him. When the three accomplices 
found themselves alone again, an expression of impotent rage and deadly 
hatred distorted their faces. 

” Oh 1 ” the squatter muttered, grinding his teeth, and raising his fist to 
heaven, “ I will be revenged.” 

‘‘And I too,” said Fray Ambrosio in a hollow voice, as he wiped away the 
blood that stained his face. 

” Hum ! I do not care,” Andres Garote said to himself aside, ‘‘ That family 
of the Zarates is a fine one ; but, caraiif it must be confessed that Don Pablo i» 
a rough fellow.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE HUNTERS. 

At about two leagues from Santa Fe, in a clearing situated on the banks of the 
stream which borders that town, and on the evening of the same day, a man was 
seated before a large fire, which he carefully kept up, while actively engaged in 
making preparations for supper. A frugal meal, at any rate, this supper 1 It 
was composed of a buffalo hump, a few potatoes, and maize tortillas baked on 
the ashes, the whole washed down with pulque. 

All at once the sound of galloping horses could be heard in the forest, and 
two riders burst into the clearing. On seeing them the hunter uttered an ex- 
clamation of joy, and hurried to meet them. They were Don Pablo and 
Curumilla. 

‘‘ Heaven be praised ! ” the hunter said. ” Here you are at last. I was be- 
ginning to grow alarmed at your long absence.” 

‘‘ You see that nothing has happened to me,” the young man answered. 

Don Pablo had dismounted, and hobbled his own horse and Curumiila’s near 
Valentine, while the Indian chief busied himself in preparing the supper. 

“ Come, come,” the hunter said gaily, ‘‘ to table. You must be hungry, and 1 
am dying of inanition.” 


7 ^ 


The Trail- Hunter, 


The three men went to the table ; that is, they seated themselves on th* 
grass in front of the fire, and vigorously assailed their meagre repast. 

“ Now,” Valentine asked presently, “what have you done? I fancy you 
remained much longer than was necessary in that accursed town.” 

“ We did, my friend. Certain reasons forced me to remain longer than 1 
had at first intended.” 

“ Proceed in regular order, if you have no objection.” 

“ Act as you please, my friend.” 

“ Very good : the chief and I will light our Indian pipes while you make your 
cigarette. We will sit with our backs to the fire, so as to watch the neighbour- 
hood, and in that way can converse without apprehension. Have you seen 
Father Seraphin ? ” 

“ Yes, I have. Our poor friend is still very weak and pale, and his wound 
is scarce cicatrised. Still, paying no heed to his sufferings, and deriving 
strength from his unbounded devotion to humanity, he has done all we agreed 
on. For the last week he has only left my father to hasten to his judges. He 
has seen the general, the governor, the bishop — everybody, in short. But all 
his exertions have hitherto been fruitless.” 

“ Patience! ’’ the hunter said with a smile. 

“ Father Seraphin believes for certain that my father will be placed in the 
capilla within two days.” 

“Two days are a long time, my friend: before they have elapsed many 
things may have occurred.” 

“ That is true ; but my father’s life is at stake ” 

“ Good, Don Pablo ; I like to hear you speak so. But reassure yourself : all 
is going on well, I repeat.” 

“ Still, my friend, I believe it would be wise to take certain precautions. 
Remember it is a question of life or death, and we must make haste. How 
many times, under similar circumstances, have the best arranged plans failed I 
Do you think that your measures are well taken ? ” 

Listen, Don Pablo de Zarate,” said Valentine. “ I have said that I will 
save your father, and mean to do so. Still I wish him to leave the prison in 
which he now is, like a man of his character ought to leave it, in open day, 
greeted by the applause of the crowd, and not by escaping furtively during the 
night, like a vile criminal. Your father shall leave his prison, but begged to 
do so by the governor himself, and all the authorities of Santa Fe. To regain 
your courage, and no longer doubt one man.” 

“Pardon me, niy friend.” answered Pablo. “ I know how devoted you are to 
my family ; but I suffer, and grief renders me unjust. Forgive me.” 

“ Child, let us forget it all. Was the town quiet to-day ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you, for I was so absorbed in thought that I saw nothing 
going on around me. Still I fancy there was a certain amount of agita- 
tion.” 

Valentine indulged once again in that strange smile that had already played 
round the corners of his lips. 

“ Good ! ” he said. “ And did you, as I advised, try to gain any information 
about Red Cedar ? ” 

Don Pablo described the scene that had taken place in the rancho. Tl 
hunter listened to it with the utmost attention, and when it was finished 1. 
shook his head several times. 

“ All young people are so.” he muttered : “ they always allow their passioi* 
to carry them beyond the bounds of reason. You were wrong, Don Pablo,” ba 
added. “ Red Cedar believed you dead, an 1 that might have been of gre;V 


The Hunters. 


r- 


use to us presently. You do not know the immense power that demon has at 
his disposal : all the bandits on the frontier are devoted to him.” 

“ Still, my friend ” 

“You acted like a madman in arousing the slumbering fury. Red Cedar 
will persist in destroying you. But that is not the worst you have done.” 

” What is it, then ?” 

” Why, madman as you are, instead of keeping dark, watching your enemies 
without saying a word — in short, seeing through their game — by an unpardon* 
able act of bravado you have unmasked all your batteries.” 

” I do not understand you, my friend.” 

“ Fray Ambrosio is a villain of a different stamp from Red Cedar, it is true ; 
but I consider him even a greater scoundrel than the scalp-hunter. That man 
is a hypocrite. He owes all to your family, and is furious at seeing treachery 
discovered. Take care, Don Pablo. You have made at one blow two implac- 
able enemies.” 

“ It is true,” the young man said ; “ I acted like a fool. But what would 
you ? At the sight of those two men I was no longer master of myself.” 

“ Yes, yes, the cuchillada was a fine one. Certainly the bandit deserved it ; 
but I fear lest the cross you so smartly drew on his face will cost you dearly 
some day.” 

“ Well, let us leave it in the hands of Heaven. Provided my father escape 
the fate that menaces him, I shall be happy.” 

” Did you learn nothing further ?” 

“Yes ; Red Cedar’s gambusinos are encamped a short distance from us, I 
know that their chief intends starting to-morrow at the latest.” 

” Oh, oh ! already ? We must make haste and prepare our ambuscade.” 

The three men made their preparations ; the horses were saddled, the small 
skins the horseman always carries at his saddle-bow in these dry countries 
were filled with water, and five minutes later were about to mount. At the 
moment they were leaving the clearing a rustling of leaves was heard, the 
branches parted, and an Indian appeared. It was Unicorn, the great sachem 
of the Comanches. Valentine advanced to meet the Indian. 

“ My brother is welcome,” he said. “ What does he want of me ? ” 

“ To see the face of a friend,” the chief answered. 

The two men then bowed after the fashion of the prairie. After this ceremony 
Valentine went on ; — 

” My father must approach the fire, and smoke from the calumet of his 
white friends.” 

” I will do so,” Unicorn answered. ' 

And drawing near the fire, he crouched down in Indian fashion, took his pipe 
from his belt, and smoked in silence. At length Unicorn shook the ashes from 
his calumet, returned it to his belt, and addressed Valentine. 

“ Is my brother setting out to hunt hiifF^does again ? ” he said. 

” Yes,” the Frenchman replied, “ we are going hunting. Does my brother 
intend to accompany us?” 

“ No ; my heart is sad.” 

” What means the chief ? ” 

” Does not my brother understand me, or am I really mistaken P Is it that 
.ny brother only really loves the buffaloes, whose meat he eats, and whose hides 
.he sells at the tolderia ? ” 

” Let my brother explain himself more clearly ; then I will try to answer 
turn.” 

There was a moment of silence. The Indian seemed to be reflecting deeply ; 


The Trail- Hunter, 



his nostrils were dilated, and at times his black eye flashed fire. At length he 
raised his head, restored all the serenity to his glance, and said in a sort and 

melodious voice— . » • - 

“ Why pretend not to understand me, Koutonepi ? A warrior must not have 
a forked tongue. What a man cannot do alone, two attempt and carry 
out. Let my brother speak : the ears of a friend are open.” t • u 

“ My brother is right. I will not deceive his expectations. The hunt! wish 
to make is serious. 1 am anxious to save a woman of my colour ; but what 
can the will of one man effect ? ” . e e • 

“ Koutonepi is not alone : I see at his side the best two rifles of the frontier. 
What does the white hunter tell me? Is he no longer the great warrior 1 
knew? Does he doubt the friendship of his brother Habouzetzle? ” 

" I never doubted the friendship of my brother. I am an adopted^^son of his 
nation. At this very moment is he not seeking to do me a service? ” 

“ That service is only half what I wish to do. Let my brother speak, and 
two hundred Comanche warriors shall join him to deliver the virgin of the pale- 
faces.” 

Valentine started with joy at this noble offer. 

“ Thanks, chief,” he said eagerly. ” I accept ; and I know that your word is 
sacred.” 

” Michabou protects us,” the Indian said, ” My brother can count on me. 
A chief does not forget a service. I owe obligations to the pale hunter, and 
will deliver to him the gachupino robbers.” 

” Here is my hand, chief : my heart has long been yours.” 

“ My brother speaks well. I have done what he requested of me.” 

And bowing courteously, the Comanche chief withdrew without adding a 
word. 

“ Don Pablo,” Valentine exclaimed joyously, “ I can now guarantee your 
father’s ^afety ; this night — perhaps to-morrow — he will be free.” 

A few minutes later the hunters left the clearing to go in search of the gam- 
businos, and prepare their ambuscade. 


CHAPTER XX. 

SUNBEAM. 

We will now go a little way back, in order to clear up certain portions of the 
conversation between Valentine and Unicorn, whose meaning the reader cannot 
have caught. 

Only a few months after their arrival in Apacheria the Frenchman and 
Curumilla were hunting the buffalo on two banks of the Rio Gila. It was a 
splendid day in the month of July. The two hunters, fatigued by a long 
march made under the beams of the parching sun, that fell vertically on their 
heads, had sheltered themselves under a clump of cedar- wood trees, and, care- 
lessly stretched out on the ground, were smoking while waiting till the great 
heat had passed, and the evening breeze rose to enable them to continue their 
hunt. A quarter of elk was roasting for their dinner. 

"Eh, penni!" Valentine said, addressing his comrade, and rising on his 
elbow, “ the dinner seems to be ready ; so suppose we feed ? The sun is rapidly 
sinking behind the virgin forest, and we shall soon have to start again,” 

" Eat.” Curumilla answered sharply. 


Sunbeam, 


73 


The meat was laid on a leaf between the two hunters. Valentine had taken 
a third bite when he stopped, with his arm raised and his head bent forward, 
as if an unusual sound had suddenly smitten his ear. Curumiila imitated his 
friend, and both listened with that deep attention that onlv results from a 
lengthened desert life ; for on the prairie every sound is suspicious — every 
meeting is feared, especially with man. 

Some time elapsed ere the noise which startled the hunters was repeated. 
For a moment they fancied themselves deceived, and Valentine took another 
bite, when he was again checked. This time he had distinctly heard a sound 
resembling a stifled sigh, but so weak and hollow that it needed the Trail- 
hunter’s practised ear to catch it. Curumiila himself had perceived nothing. 
Valentine rose hurriedly, seized his rifle, and rushed in the direction of the 
river, his friend following him in all haste. 

It was from the river, in fact, that the sigh heard by Valentine had come, 
and fortunately it was but a few paces distant, where a fearful sight presented 
itself to their startled eyes. A long plank was descending the river, turning 
on its axis, and borne by the current, which ran rather strongly at this point. 
On this plank was fastened a woman, who held a child in her clasped arms. 
Each time the plank revolved the unhappy woman plunged with her child into 
the stream, and at ten yards at the most from it an enormous cayman was 
swimming vigorously to snap at its two victims. 

Valentine raised his rifle. Curumiila at the same moment glided into the 
water, holding his knife-blade between his teeth, and swam toward the plank. 
Valentine remained for a few seconds motionless, as if changed into a block of 
marble. All at once he pulled the trigger, and the discharge was re-echoed by 
the distant mountains. The cayman leaped out of the water, and plunged 
down again ; but it reappeared a moment later, belly upwards. It was dead. 
Valentine’s bullet had passed through its eye. 

In the mean while Curumiila had reached the plank with a few strokes. 
Without loss of time he turned it in the opposite direction from what it was 
following; and while holding it so that it could not revolve, he pushed it on to 
the sand. In two strokes he cut the bonds that held the hapless woman, 
seized her in his arms, and ran off with her to the bivouac fire. 

The poor woman gave no signs of life, and the two hunters eagerly sought 
to restore her. She was an Indian, apparently not more than eighteen, and 
very beautiful. Valentine found great difficulty in loosening her arms and 
removing the baby; for the frail creature, about a year old, by an 
incomprehensible miracle, had been preserved — thanks, doubtless, to its 
mother’s devotion. It smiled pleasantly at the hunter when he laid it tenderly 
on a bed of dry leaves. 

Presently the woman was squatting by the fire, nursing her child, and lulling 
it to sleep by singing an Indian song. The night passed tranquilly, the wvo 
hunters watching in turn over the slumbers of the woman they had saved, and 
who reposed in peace. 

At sunrise she awoke; and, with the skill and handiness peculiar to the 
women of her race, she rekindled the fire and prepared breakfast. The two 
men looked at her with a smile, then threw their rifles over their shoulders, and 
set out in search of game. When they returned to the bivouac the meal was 
ready. After eating, Valentine lit his Indian pipe, seated himself at the foot of 
a tree, and addressed the young woman. 

She then explained that her name was Sunbeam, that she was the wife of a 
chief called Unicorn. She had been stolen by an Apache savage, who to 
revenge himself for her rejection of his love had treated her in the way they had 


74 


The TraiL-Hun(er» 


seen. While she was still telling her story, the song of the maukawis was heard 
at a short distance off. The two hunters raised their heads in surprise, and 
looked around them. 

“ The quail sings very late, I fancy,” Valentine muttered suspiciously. 

The Indian girl smiled, but gave no answer. Suddenly a light cracking of 
dry branches disturbed the silence. Valentine and Curumiila made a move, as 
if to spring up and seize their rifles that lay by their side. 

“ My brothers must not stir.” the squaw said quickly ; “ it is a friend.” 

The hunters remained motionless, and the girl then imitated with rare 
perfection the cry of the blue jay. The bushes parted, and an Indian warrior, 
perfectly painted and armed for war, bounded like a jackal over the grass and 
herbs that obstructed his passage, and stopped in face of the hunters. This 
warrior was Unicorn. He saluted the two men with that grace innate in the 
Indian race ; then he crossed his arms on his breast, and waited, without taking 
a glance at his squaw, or even appearing to have seen her. On her side the 
Indian woman did not stir. 

“ Unicorn is welcome to our camp,” said Valentine. “ Let him take a 
seat by the fire of his brottiers, and share with them t*he provisions they 
possess.” 

“ 1 will take a seat by the fire of my pale-face brother,” he replied ; “ but he 
must first answer me a question I wish to ask him.” 

“ My brother can speak ; my ears are open.” 

“Goodl” the chief answered. “How is it the hunters have with them 
Unicorn’s wife ? ” 

“ Sunbeam can answer that question best,” Valentine said gravely. 

“ I am waiting,” the chief remarked. 

The Indian woman repeated, word for word, to her husband the story she had 
told a few minutes before. Unicorn listened without evincing either surprise 
or wrath ; his face remained impassive, but his brows were imperceptibly 
contracted. When the woman had finished speaking, the Comanche chief 
bowed his head on his chest, and remained for a moment plunged in serious 
thought. Presently he raised his head. 

“ Who saved Sunbeam from the river when she was about to perish ? ” he 
asked her. 

“ These hunters,” she replied. 

“ Good 1 ” the chief said laconically, as he bent on the two men a glance full 
of the most unspeakable gratitude. 

“ Could we leave her to perish ? ” Valentine said. 

“ My brothers did well. Unicorn is one of the first sachems of his nation. 
His tongue is not forked ; he gives his heart once and takes it back no more! 
Unicorn’s heart belongs to the hunters.” 

These simple words were uttered w th the majesty and grandeur the Indians 
know so well how to assume when they think proper. The two men vowed 
their gratitude, and the chief continued : — 

“ Unicorn is returning to his village with his wife ; his -oung men are await, 
mg him twenty paces from here. He would be happy 'if the huntJrs would 
consent to accompany him there.” 

“ Chief,” Valentine answered, “ we came into the prairie to hunt the 
buffalo.” 

“ Well, what matter? My brothers will hunt with me and my youn<r men • 
but if they wish to prove to me that they accept my friendship, they wilf follow 
me to my village.” 

“The chief is mounted, while we are on foot.” 


The Missionary. 


75 


” 1 have horses.” 

Any further resistance would have been a breach of politeness, and the 
hunters accepted the invitation. Valentine, whom accident had brought on to 
the prairies of the Rio Gila and Del Norte, was in his heart not sorry to make 
friends there, and have allies on whose support he could reckon in case of need. 
The squaw had by this time risen ; she timidly approached her husband, and 
held up the child, saying in a soft and frightened voice — 

“ Kiss this warrior.” 

The chief took the frail creature in his -muscular arms, and kissed it 
repeatedly with a display of extraordinary tenderness, and then returned it to 
the mother. The latter wrapped the babe in a small blanket, then placed it on 
a plank shaped like a cradle, and covered with dry moss, fastened a hood over 
the place where its head rested, to guard it from the burning beams of the sun, 
and hung the whole on her back by means of a woollen strap passing over her 
forehead. 

“ I am ready,” she said. 

“ Let us go,’’ the chief replied. 

The hunters followe 1 him, and they were soon on the prairie; and before 
many days adopted into the tribe of the generous chtef. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

THE MISSIONARY. 

With time the relations existing between the hunters and the Indians were 
drawn closer, and became more friendly. In the desert physical strength is the 
quality most highly esteemed. Man, compelled to struggle incessantly against 
the dangers of every description that rise each moment before him, is 
bound to look only to himself for the means to surmount them. Hence 
the Indians profess a profound contempt for sickly people, and weak and 
timid nerves. 

Valentine easily induced Unicorn to seize, during the hunt of the wild horses, 
the Mexican magistrates, in order to make hostages of them if the conspiracy 
were unsuccessful. What the hunter foresaw happened. Red Cedar had 
opposed stratagem to stratagem ; and as we have seen Don Miguel was arrested 
in the midst of his triumph, at the very moment when he fancied himself master 
of the Paso del Norte. 

After Valentine, Curumilla, and Don Pablo had seen, from their hiding-place 
in the bushes, the mournful escort pass that was taking Don Miguel as a 
prisoner to Santa Fe, they held a council. The prisoner must be saved. 
Valentine, with that promptitude of decision, which formed the salient point 
of his character, soon arranged in his head one of those bold schemes which 
only he could discover. 

“ Courage ! ” he said to Don Pablo. ” As long as the heart beats in the 
breast there is hope.” 

“ Speak, my friend,” said Don Pablo, who had entire faith in Valentine ; he 
had often been in the position to try his friend, and these words gave him back 
that courage so necessary to him. “ What is to be done ? ” 

“ Let us attend to the most important thing first, and save Father Seraphin, 
who devoted himself for us.” 

The three meu started. The night was a gloomy one. The moon only ap. 


76 


The Trail- him let. 


peared at intervals; incessantly veiled by thick clouds which passed over its 
disc, it seemeii to shed its sickly rays regretfully on the earth. The wind 
whistled thiou^h the branches of the trees, which uttered mysterious murmurs 
as they came into collision. The coyotes howled in the plain, and at times 
their sinister forms shot athwart the sky-line. After a march of about an hour 
the three men approached the spot where the missionary had fallen from the 
effect of Red Cedar’s bullet ; but he had disappeared. An alarm mingled with 
a frightful agony contracted the hunters’ hearts. Valentine took a despairing 
glance around ; but the darkness was too dense for him possibly to distinguish 
anything. 

“ What is to be done ? ” Don Pablo asked sadly. 

“ Seek,” Valentine replied sharply : “ he cannot be far.” 

Curumilla had already taken up the trail, and had disappeared in the 
gloom. 

The two men stood motionless, listening to the mysterious sounds of the 
desert, that nameless melody which plunges the soul into a soft reverie. Nearly 
an hour passed thus, nothing revealing to the hunters that Curumilla’s search 
had proved successful. Valentine, growing impatient at this long delay, was also 
preparing to go on the trail, w'hen all at once the w’eak snapping cry of the walkon 
rose in the air. 

“ What’s that ? ” Don Pablo asked in surprise. 

“ Silence ! ” Valentine muttered. 

A second time the walkon sang, but this time stronger, and much nearer. 
Valentine raised his fingers to his lips, and imitated the sharp, shrill yell of the 
ocelot twice with such perfection, that Don F^blo started involuntarily, and 
looked round for the wild beast, whose eyes he fancied he qould see flashing 
behind a thicket. Almost immediately the note of the w’alkon was heard a 
thTd time. 

“ Good ! ” said Va’entine. “ Curumilla has found Father Seraphin.” 

The young man looked at him in amazement. The hunter smiled. 

“ They will both arrive directly, he said.’^ ^ . 

“ How do you know ? ” ' 

“ Child 1 ” Valentine interrupted him, *' in the desert the human voice is 
more injurious than useful. The song of birds, the cry of wild beasts, serve us 
as language.” 

“ Yes,” the young man answered simply, “ that is true. I have often 
heard it stated ; but I was not aware you could understand one another so 
easily.” 

“That is nothing,” the hunter remarked good-humouredly; “you will see 
much more.” 

In a few moments the sound of footsteps became audible, at first faint 
then gradually coming nearer, and two shadows were dimly drawn on the 
night, 

“ It is Cuvamilla,” said Valentine. “ Let us go to meet him.” 

Don Pablo followed him, and they soon reached the Indian, who walked 
slowly, obliged as he was to support, almost carry, the missionary. 

When Father Seraphin fell off his horse he almost immediately lost his 
senses. He remained for a long time lying in the ditch, but by deo-rees the 
night cold had brought him round again. At the first moment the poor priest, 
whose ideas were still confused, had cast anxious glances around him while 
asking himself how ht came there, and by what concourse of strange events 
it had happened He tried to rise ; but then a poignant pain he felt in his 
shoulder reminded him of what had occurred. Still he did not despair. 


2'kt Mlssionartf 


77 


“O God ! ” he cried, “ deign to support Thy servant, for he has set on The© 
all his hope and confidence.” 

Prayer, when made with faith, produces in a man an effect whose conse- 
quences are immediate : it consoles him, gives him courage, and almost restores 
him the strength that has deserted him. This was wnat happened to Fatiier 
Seraphin. After uttering these few words he set out boldly, supporting his 
tottering footsteps with a stick, which a providential chance had placed in his 
way. He walked thus for nearly half a league, stopping at every instant to 
draw breath ; but human endurance has limits beyond which it cannot go. In 
spite of the efforts he made, the missionary at length felt his legs give way 
under him ; he understood that he could not go further ; and he sank at the 
foot of a tree, certain that he had attempted impossibilities, and henceforth 
resigning to Providence the care of saving him. 

It was at this moment Curumilla arrived near him. The Indian aided him to 
rise, and then warned his comrades of the success of his starch. Father Sera- 
phin, though the chief offered to carry him, refuse i, and wished to walk to join 
his friends ; but his strength deserted him a second time, he lost his senses, and 
fell into the arms of the Indian, who watched him attentively; for he noticed 
his increasing weakness, and foresaw his fall. Valentine andCurumnla hastily 
constructed a litter of tree branches, on which they placed the poor wounded 
man, and raising him on their shoulders, went off with him rapidly. The '^’cht 
passed away, and the sun was already high on the horizon, and yet the hanici* 
were marching. At length, at about eleven o’clock, they reached the cavern 
which served Valentine as a shelter, and to which he had resolved to carry his 
patient, that he might himself nurse him. 

Father Seraphin was in a raging fever; his face was red, his eyes flashing. 
As nearly always happens with gun-shot wounds, a suppurating fever had 
declared itself. The missionary was laid on a bed of furs, and Valentine im- 
mediately prepared to probe the wound. By a singular chance the bad had 
lodged in the shoulder without fracturing the blade-bone. Valentine drew it ; 
and then helped by Curumilla, who had quietly pounded oregano leaves, he 
formed a cataplasm, which he laid on the wound, after first carefully washing 
it. Scarcely had this been done ere the missionary fell into a deep sleep, whica 
lasted till nightfall. 

Valentine’s treatment had effected wonders. The fever had* di'^appeared, 
the priest’s features were calmed, the flush that purpled his cheeks had given 
place to a pallor caused by the loss of blood ; in short, he was a« well as could 
be expected. On opening his eyes he perceived the three hunters watching him 
anxiously. He smiled, and said in a weak voice, 

“ Thanks, my brothers, thanks for the help you have afforded me. Heaven 
will reward you. I feel much better.” 

“ The Lord be praised! ” Valentine answered. “You wil’ escape, my father, 
more cheaply than I had dared to hope. Your wound, though serious, is not 
dangerous, and in a few days you can, if you think necessary, resume your avo- 
cations.’* 

“ Can it be possible ? I thank you for this good news, my dear Valentine. I no 
longer count tue times I have owed my life to you. Heaven, in its infinite good- 
ness has placed you near me to support .ne in my tribulations, and succour me in 
uays ot danger.” 


CHAPTER XXII, 


THE INTERVIEW. 

At daybreak the next mo’ning’, Curumilla started for Unicorn’s village. At sun- 
set he rtturned to the cavern, accompanied by the Comanche chief. The sachem 
entertained the most profound respect for Father Seraphin, whose noble cnaracter he 
could appreciate. 

“ Father,’’ he said to him as he kissed his hand, “ who are the villians who thus 
wounded you, to whom the Master of Life has imparted the secret to make us happs •'* 
Whoever thev may be, these men shall die.” 

“ My son,” the priest answered g’cntly, “ I will not pronounce before you the iianu 
of the unhappy man who, in a moment of madness, raised his hand against rm 
My God is a God of peace; He is merciful, and recommends his creatures to forget 
injuries.” 

The Indian looked at him in amazement. He did not understand the soft and 
touching sublimity of these precepts of love. 

“ My son,” Father Seraphin continued, you are a great warrior. Many a time 
you have braved the atrocious tortures of the stake of blood, a thousand fold more 
terrible than death itself. Often have you, with a pleasure I excuse (for it is your 
nature), thrown down your enemy, and planted your knee on his chest. Have you 
never pardoned anybody in fight? ” 

“ Never ! ” the Indian answered, his eyes sparkling with satisfied pride. “ Uni- 
corn has sent many Apache dogs to the happy hunting grounds : their scalps are 
drying at the door of his cabin.” 

“ VVcll, ’ the mission iry said gentlv, “ try clemency once, only once, and you 
will know one of the greatest pleasures God has granted to man on this earth.” 

“ No,” said the chief; ■“ a dead enemy is no longer to be feared.” 

” My son, >ou love me, I belive ” 

” Y es. My father is good ; he has behaved well to the Comanches, and they arc 
grateful. Let my father command, and his son will obey.” 

‘‘ I can only ask a favour of you.” 

“ Good ! My father can explain himself. Unicorn will do what he desires.” 

“ Well then^I? said the missionary with a lively feeling of joy, “ promise me to par- 
don the fit St unhappy man, whoever he may be, who falls into your hands, and you 
Will render me happy.” 

The chief frowned, and an expression of dissatisfaction appeared on his features. 
Father Serapliin anxiously followed on the Coma che’s intelligent countenance the 
different shadows reflected on it as in ^ mirror. At length the Indian regained his 
stoicism and his face grew serene again. 

“ Be it so ; my father shall be satisfied. I promise him to pardon the first 
enemy whom the Manitou causes to fall beneath the point of my lance.” 

” 'I hanks, chief,” the missionary exclaimed joyfully, ” thanks ! Heaven will re- 
ward you for this good idea.” 

The Indian bowed silently and turned to Valentine, who had been listening to the 
conversation. 

” My brother called me, and I came. What does he want of Unicorn? ” 

” My brotner will take his seat at the council fire, and smoke the calumet with i 
friend. Cliiefs do not speak without reflecting on the words they -.re aooui u 
utter.” 

My brother speaks well, and I wilLtake my seat at his fire.” 

Curumilla had lighted a large fire in the first grotto of the cavern. The four mer 


The Interview. 


79 


left Father Seraphin to take a few moments’ rest, and seated themselves round the 
ftre, when the calumet passe! from hand to hand. The Indians never undertake 
anyttiing important, or commence a discussion, without first smoking the calumel 
in council, whatever may be the circumstances in which they are placed. When the 
calumet had gone the round Valentine rose. 

“ Every day,” lie said bowing to the chief,” “ I appreciate more and more the 
honour the Comanches did me in adopting me as a son. My brother’s nation is 
powerful; its hunting grounds cover the whole surface of the earth. To-day I have 
again a service to ask of my brother, and will he do it me? I presume so; for I 
know his heart, and that the Great Spirit of the Master of Life dwells in him.” 

“Let my brother explain,” Unicorn answered. “He is speaking to a chief : he 
must remove the skin from his heart, and let his blood flow red and bright before a 
friend. The great white hunter is a portion of myself.’’ 

‘‘Thanks, brother,” Valentine said, with emotion. “Your words have passed 
from your lips into my breast, which they have rejoiced. I am not mistaken. I sec 
that I can ever count on your well-tried friendship and honest aid. Acumaypicthzin 
dc Zarate, the descendant of the Mexican kings, the friend of the red-skins, wnom he 
has ever protected, is a prisoner to the gachupinos.” 

“ And what does my brother want ? 

“I wish to save my friend.” 

“ Good ! ” the chief answered. “ My brother claims my help to succeed in that 
project, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Good ! The descendant of the Tlatoanis shall be saved. My brother can feel 
reassured.” 

“I can count, then, on my brother’s aid ? ’* Valentine asked quickly. 

“ Unicorn holds in his hands Spaniards who will answer for the life of the prisoner.” 

“ That is true ! ” Valentine exclaimed as he struck his forehead. “ Your idea is 
a good one, chief.” 

“ My brother will leave me to act. I answer for success on my head.” 

“ Caramha? act as you please, chief. Still, were it only for form’s sake, 1 should 
n(!it be sorry to know what you intend doing.” 

“ Unicorn will go to Santa Fe to speak with the chief of the white men. Have I 
not hostages ? ” he said. 

“ That is true,” Valentine remarked. 

“The Spaniards are,” the chief went on, “like chattering old women, prodigal of 
seductive words ; but Unicorn knows them. How many times already has he 
trodden the war-path on their territory at the head of his warriors I They will not 
dare to deceive him.’’ 

“ My heart is full of gratitude toward my red brother.” 

“ Good ! What is that to Unicorn ? Less than nothing. Has my brother 
-mything else to ask of me?” 

“ One thing more.” 

“ Let my brother explain himself as quickly as possible.” 

“ I will do so. Men, without fear or the Great Sp rit, have carried off Dona 
^lara, the daughter of the white chief whom my brother is pledged to save.” 

“ Who are these men ? Does my brother know them ? ” 

“ Yes, I know them only too well. They are bandits, at the head of whom 
is a monster called Red Cedar.* 

At this name the Indian started slightly, his eye flashed fire, and a deep 
wrinkle hollowed his forehead. 

“ Red Cedar is a ferocious jaguar,” he said, with concentrated passion. “ He 
has made himself the scourge of the Indians, whose scalps he desires. This 


8o 


The Trail-Hunter. 


man has no pity either for women or children, but he possesses no courage ; 
he onlv attacks his enemies in the dark, twenty against one, and when he is 
sure of meeting with no resistance.” 

“ My brother knows this man. I see.” 

“ And this man has carried off the white gazelle ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

” Good ! My brother wishes to know what Red Cedar has done with hi? 
prisoner ? ” 

” I do wish it.” 

The Indian rose. 

” Time is slipping away,” he said. “ Unicorn will return to his friends. My 
brother the hunter need not feel alarmed : a chief is watching.” 

After uttering these words the chief went down into the cavern, mounted his 
horse, and disappeared in the direction of the desert. 

Three weeks elapsed, however, ere Unicorn appeared to be effectually carry- 
ing out the plan he had explained to Valentine, who only learnt indirectly that 
a strong party of Comanche warriors had invaded the Mexican frontiers. 
Father Seraphin, though not yet completely cured, had insisted on proceeding 
to Santa Fe to take some steps to save Don Miguel, whose trial had gone on 
rapidly, and who was on the point of being executed. For his part, Don Pablo 
half mad with uneasiness, also insisted, in spite of Valentine’s entreaties and 
remarks, on entering Santa furtively, and trying to see his father. 

” The night on which we found Valentine in the clearing. Unicorn visited 
him again for the first time : he came to inform him of the success of the 
measures he had taken. Valentine, used to Indian hsbits, understood half a 
a word: hence he had not hesitated to announce to Don Pablo as a positive 
fact that his father would soon be free. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE PRISON. 

Don Miguel and General Ibanez had managed to be confined together hy the 
expenditure of many entreaties and a heavy sum of gold. They inhabited two 
wretched rooms, the entire furniture of which consisted in a halting table, a few 
leather-covered butaccas, and two benches which served them as beds. These 
two men, so powerful by nature, had endured without complaint all the humi- 
liation and insults inflicted on them during their trial, resolved to die as they 
had lived, with head erect and firm heart, without giving the judges who had 
condemned them the satisfaction of seeing them turn weak at the last 
moment. 

It was toward the evening of the same day on which we saw Valentine in the 
clearing. Darkness fell rapidly, and the only window, a species of narrow slit 
that served to light the prison, allowed but a weak and dubious light to pene- 
trate. Don Miguel was walking with long strides up and down his prison, 
while the general, carelessly reclining on one of the benches, quietly smoked 
his cigarette, watching with childish pleasure the light clouds of bluish smoke 
which rose in a spiral to the ceiling, and which he constantly blew asunder. 

” Well,” Don Miguel said all at once, ‘‘ it seems it is not for to-day, either.” 

No,” the general said, ” unless they wish to do us the honour of a torch-ligkt 
execution.” 


The Prison. 


8i 


" Can you at all account for this delay ? ” 

“ On my honour, no. I have ransacked my brains in vain to guess the 
reason.” 

Same with me. At first I fancied they were trying to frighten us by the con- 
tinued apprehension of death constantly suspended over our heads.” 

“ I am entirely of your opinion : still something extraordinary must be 
occurring.” 

“ What makes you suppose that ? ” 

“ Why, for the last two days our worthy jailer. Tio Quesada, has become 
less brutal. I noticed that he has drawn in his claws, and attempted a grin.” 

“ And you conclude from that ? ” 

“ Nothing positive,” the general said. “ Still I ask myself whence comes 
this incomprehensible change. It would be as absurd to attribute it to the pity 
he feels for our position as to suppose that the governor will come to ask our 
pardon for having tried and condemned us.” 

“ Eh ? ” Don Miguel said with a toss of his head. “ All is not over — we are 
not dead yet.” 

“ Our life is in God’s hands. He will dispose of it at His pleasure.” 

“ Amen ! ’’ the general said, as he rolled a fresh cigarette. 

“ Do you not consider it extraordinary that, during the whole month we hare 
been confined here, our friends have not given a sign of life ? ” 

“ Hum !” said the general, ” a prisoner is very sick, and our friends doubt- 
less feared to make us worse by the sight of their grief ; that is why they have 
deprived themselves of the pleasure of visiting us.” 

” Do not jest, general. You accuse them wrongfully, I feel convinced.” 

” May heaven grant it ! for my part I heartily forgive them their indif- 
ference.” 

” I cannot believe that Don Valentine, that true-hearted and noble-minded 
man, for whom I ever felt so deep a friendship, has not tried to see me.” 

“ Bah ! How, Don Miguel, can you, so near death as you are, still believe 
in honourable feelings in any man ? ” 

At this moment there was a great clash of iron outside, and the door of the 
room was opened sufficiently to afford passage to the jailer, who preceded 
another person. The almost complete obscurity that prevailed in the prison 
prevented the condemned men from recognising the visitor, who wore a long 
black gown. 

“ Eh, eh ! ” the general muttered in his comrade’s ear, “ I believe that 
General Ventura, our amiable governor, has at length made up his mind.” 

“ Why so ? ” Don Miguel asked in a low voice. 

” Canarios ! he has sent us a priest.” 

” On my word, all the better,” Don Miguel could not refrain from saying. 

In the meanwhile the jailer, a short, thick-set man, with a ferret face and cun- 
ning eye, had turned to the priest, whom he invited to enter, saying in a hoarse 
voice, — 

” Here it is, senor padre ; these are the condemned persons.” 

** Will you leave us alone, my friend? ” the stranger said. 

“Will you have my lantern? It is getting dark, and when people are talking 
they like to see one another.” 

“ Thanks ; you can do so. Y ou will open when I call you by tapping at the door.” 

“All right — I will do so;” and he turned to the condemned, to whom he said 
savagely, ‘‘ Well, scnorc", here is a priest. Take advantage of his services now you 
have got him. In your position there is no knowing what may happen from om 
moment to the other.” 


f 


82 


The TraiUHunter, 


The prisoners shrugged their shoulders contemptuously, but made no reply, Tht 
jailer went out. When the sound of his footsteps had died away in the distance, the 
priest, who had till this moment stood with his body bent forward and his ear on the 
watch, drew himself up, and walked straight to Don Miguel. 

“ My father,” the haciendero said in a firm voice, “ I thank the person who 
sent you to prepare me for death, for I anxiously wished to fulfil my duties as a 
Christian. If you will proceed with me into the adjoining room I will confess 
my sins to you : they are those which an honest man only commits.” 

The priest took off his hat, seized the lantern, and placed it near his pale 
face. 

“ Father Seraphin ! ” the prisoners exclaimed with a surprise mingled with 
joy. 

“ Silence t ” the priest ordered quickly. “ Do not pronounce my name so 
loudly, brothers : every one is ignorant of my being here except the jailer.” 

“He!” Don Miguel said with stupor; “the man who has been insulting and 
humiliating us during a month ! “ 

“ That man is henceforth ours. Lose no time, come. I have secure means 
to get you out of prison, and to leave the town ere your evasion can be even 
suspected. Come, gentlemen, for the moments are precious.” 

The two prisoners interchanged a glance of sublime eloquence ; then General 
Ibanez quietly seated himself on a butacca, while Don Miguel replied— 

“ Thanks, my father. You have undertaken the noble task of .‘toothing all 
sorrow, and you do not wish to fail in your duty. Thanks for the offer you make 
us, which we cannot, however, accept. Men like us must not give our enemies 
right by flying like criminals. We fought for a sacred principle, and suc- 
cumbed. We owe it to our countrymen and to ourselves to endure death 
bravely. Once again, thanks ; but we will only quit this prison as free men, 
or walk to punishment.” 

“ I have not the courage, gentlemen, to blame your heroic resolution : in a 
similar case I should act as you are doing. You have a very slight hope still 
left, so wait.” 

“ We hope for nothing more, my father.” 

“ That word is blasphemy in your mouth, Don Miguel. God can do all He 
wills. Hope, I tell you.” 

“ I am wrong, father; forgive me.” 

“ Now I am ready to hear your confession.” 

The prisoners bowed. Father Seraphin shrived them in turn, and gave them 
absolution. 

“ Hola! ” the jailer shouted through the door. “ Make haste ; it is getting 
late. It will soon be impossible to leave the city.” 

“ Open the door,” the missionary said in a firm voice, and light me out of 
the prison. These Caballeros refuse to profit by the chance of safety I came to 
offer them.” 

“ They are mad,” said the jailer. 

And he went out, followed by the priest, who turned on the threshold and 
pointed to heaven. The prisoners remained alone. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE EMBASSY. 

On the selfsame day that Father Seraphin went to the prison to propose an 
escape to the condemned, a very strange circumstance aroused the entire 
population of Santa Fe. At about mid.day, at the moment when the in- 
habitants were enjoy ing their siesta, and the streets were completely deserted, 
a formidable hurrah, the terrible war-yell of the Comanche Indians, burst forth 
at the entrance of'the town. 

There was a general alarm, and everybody barricaded himself in his house 
believing in a sudden assault of the savages. Presently an immense clamour, 
and cries of distress and despair utterred by a terrified population, could be 
heard throughout the town. 

In the rr.eanwile a few inhabitants, bolder than the rest, or having nothing to 
lose, proceeded with the greatest precautions toward the spot whence the shouts 
were heard ; and a singular spectacle presented itself. A detachment of dis- 
mounted Comanche warriors, about two hundred strong was marching in close 
column, flanked on either wing by two troops, each of fifty horse. About 
twenty paces in front caracoled Unicorn. 

All these men had a martial aspect which was really remarkable; all w'crc 
strangely painted, well adorned, and in their full war costume. The horsemen were 
loade i with all sorts of arms and ornaments : they had a bow and quiver on their 
backs, their guns slung and decorated with tl'eir medicine bags, and their lances in 
their hands. I'hey were crowned with magnificent black and white eagle feathers, 
with a falling tuft. The upper part of the body, otherwise naked, was covered by a 
coyote skin rolled up and worn across the shoulder ; their bucklers were ornamented 
with feathers, cloth of different colours, and human scalps. They were seated on 
handsome saddle-cloths of panthers' skins, lined with red, which almost covered 
the horses’ backs. According to the prairie fashion, they had no stirrups. 

There was something at once imposing and striking in the appearance presented 
by this band of ferocious warriors as they advanced through the deserted streets 
of the city, brandishing their tremendous weapons, and uttering at intervals 
their sinister war-cry, which they accompanied by the shrill sound of long 
whistles made of human thigh-bones, which they wore suspended A>y strips of 
wild-beast hide. 

By this time the Coman ches had penetrated the heart of the city, driving 
before them, though without violence, the few inhabitants that had ventured to 
get in their way. They marched in good order, not turning to the right or 
left to plunder, and doing no reprehensible action. 

The Comanches did not appear to notice the excitement they created. As 
soon as they were on the Plaza Mayor they halted and remained motionless, as 
as if their feet had suddenly grown to the ground. Unicorn made a sign 
with his talisman ; a warrior quitted the ranks, and rode up to the sentry 
standing in front of the governor’s palace, who regarded the singular scene with 
a dazed air. 

^ Wah I ” the Indian said sarcastically, “ Is my brother asleep, that he 
does not hear a warrior addressing him ? ” 

“ I am not asleep,” the soldier answered, as he fell back a pace. “ What do 
you want ? ” 

“ The great sachem of the Comanches, the cacique whom the red children 
call Haboutzetlze, has come to speak to his great white father.” 


84 


The Trail-Hunter, 


“ What does he want with him ? ” the soldier asked. 

“ Is my brother a chief? ” the Indian asked cunningly. 

“ No,” the soldier answered. 

“ Well, then, let him close his ears as regards those the Great Spirit has set 
above him, and deliver the message I give him in the sachem’s name.” 

While the Comanche warrior was exchanging these few words with the 
sentry, several persons, drawn out of the palace by the unusual disturbance thev 
heard, mingled with the crowd. Among them were several officers, one of 
whom advanced to the Indian horseman. 

“ What does my brother want ?” he asked him. • 

The warrior saw at the first glance that this time he had to do with a chief 
He bowed courteously, and answered, — 

“ A deputation of the great Comanche nation desires to be introduced to 
my great white father.’’ 

“ Good ! But all the warriors cannot enter the palace,” the officer said. 

*' Mv brother is right. Their chiefs alone will go in: their young men will 
await them here.” 

“ Let my brother be patient. I will go and deliver his message in all haste.’* 

” Good ! My brother is a chief. The Spider will await him.” 

The new governor of Santa Fe was a general of the name of Don Benito 
Ventura. He was ignorant as a fish, stupid and haughty as a hcathcock. Like 
the majority of his colleagues in this eccentric country, he had gained his 
general’s epaulettes by repeated pronunciamentos, managing to gain a step 
by every revolution, while never having seen more fire than that of the thin 
hwskpqjillo he constantly had in his mouth. To sum him up, he was very 
rich, a wonderful coward, and more afraid of blows than aught in the world. 
Such he was morally : physically he was a plump little man, round 
as a barrel, with a rubicund face, lighted up by two small gray eyes, and had 
learned with the utmost terror the entrance of the Comanches into the town, 
and when the officer intrusted witn the Spider’s message presented himself before 
him, he had literally lost his head. It took all possible trouble to make him 
comprehend tnat the Indians came as friends, tnat they merely wished to have 
a palaver with him, and that since their coming their conduct had been most 
honourable and exemplary. Fortunately for the Spanish honour, other officers 
entered the apartment in which was the governor, attracted to the place by the 
news, which had spread witn the speed of a train of powder through Santa Fe 
of the appearance of an Indian detachment. 

When the general saw himself surrounded and supported by the officers of 
his staff his terror was slightly toned down, he regained his presence of mind, 
and it was with a calm and almost dignified demeanour that he discussed the 
question \\hether it was proper to receive the Indian deputation, and in what 
manner it should be done. The other officers, who, in the course of their pro- 
fessional career, had had many a skirmish with the red-skins, felt no inclination 
to anger them. They produced in support of their opinions such peremptory 
reasons, that General Ventura, convinced by their arguments, gave the officer 
who brought the message orders to bring the three principal Indian chieiis into 
tne palace. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE PRESENTATION. 

It needed tbe thorough knowledge the Comanches possessed of the terror they 
inspired the Mexicans with for them to have dared to enter in so small a body 
1 town like Santa Fe', where they might expect to find a considerable garrison. 

The general officer sent by General Ventura had performed his duty. Unicorn 
and two other chiefs dismounted and followed him into the palace ; while the 
Indian warriors, in spite of the heat of the sunbeams that played on their heads, 
remained motionless on the spot where their caciques bade them wait. 

The general desired, by a certain display of strength, to impose on the red- 
skin deputies ; but unfortunately, as is the constant rule in Mexico, the garrison, 
which on paper represented eight hundred men, was in reality only composed 
of sixty at the most. But if soldiers were lacking, to make up for it there was 
no paucity of officers. The thirty officers, attired in their splendid uniforms, 
that glistened with gold and decorations, were arranged round the general, 
while three posts of ten men each held the doors of the hall of reception. 

When the preparations were completed the ambassadors were introduced. 
The Indian chiefs, accustomed for a long period to Spanish luxury, entered 
without testifying the slightest surprise. They bowed with dignity to the 
assembly, and, crossing their arms on their chests, waited till they were ad- 
dressed. The general regarded them with an astonishment pardonable enough, 
for this was the first time he had found himself in the presence of these untame- 
able red-skins, 

“ What reason can have been so powerful as to oblige my sons to come and 
see me ? ” he asked in a gracious and conciliating tone. “ Let them make their 
request, and, if I can do so, I shall be most ready to satisfy it.” 

This opening, which the governor fancied to be very politic, was, on the con- 
trary, most awkward, as it offended the pride of those he addressed, and whon> 
be had the greatest interest in humouring. Unicorn ti/ok a step forward. 

“ I have heard a parrot speak. Are the words addressed to me Y ” he asked. 

The general blushed up to the eyes at this insult, which he did not dare 
retaliate. 

“ The chief has not understood my words,” he said. “ My intentions are 
good.’* 

The Comanches do not come here to ask a favour,” Unicorn answered 
haughtily. 

‘•What do my sons want, then 

” To treat with my father for the ransom of the white chiefs who are in their 
power. Five pale-faces inhabit the cabin of the Comanches. Tee young men 
of the tribe demand their punishment, for the blood of the pale-faces is agree- 
able to the Master of Life. To-morrow the prisoners will have ceased to live 
if my father does not buy them off to-day.” 

After these words, uttered in a firm and peremptory tone, there was a moment 
of supreme silence. 

“ What does my father say? Shall we fasten our prisoners to the stake of 
blood, or restore them to liberty ? ” 

“ What ransom do you ask ? ” the general said. 

“ Listen, all you chiefs of the pale-faces here present, and judge of the 
clemency and generosity of the Comanches. We only wish for the life of these 
five men the life of two men.” 


86 


The Trail- 1 hi tiler. 


“ That is little, I allow,” the general remarked; ‘ and who are the two men 
whose lives you ask ? ” 

“ The pale-faces call them, the first, Don Miguel Zarate ! the second General 
Ibanez.” 

The general started. 

“ Those two men cannot be delivered to you,” he answered ; ” they are con- 
demned to death.” 

" Good 1 My prisoners will be tortured this night,” the chief replied 
stoically. 

” Confound it! ” the general sharply exclaimed, ” is there no other arrange- 
ment possible ? ” 

” I want those two men,” the chief quickly interrupted. ” If not my warriors 
will themselves deliver them ; and in that case the Comanche chiefs cannot 
prevent the injury their warriors may commit in the town.” 

One of the officers present at the interview was aroused by the tone Unicorn 
had affected since the beginning of the audience. He was a brave old soldier, 
and the cowardice of his comrades shamed him. He rose at this point. 

“Chief,” he said in a firm voice, “your words are very haughty and foolish 
from the mouth of an ambassador. You are here at the head of scarce two 
hundred warriors, in the heart of a town peopled by brave men. Despite all 
my desire to be agreeable to you, if you do not pay greater respect to your 
audience, prompt and severe justice shall be inflicted on your insolence.” 

The Indian chief turned toward the new speaker, whose remarks had aroused 
a sympathetic murmur. 

“ My words are those of a man who tears nothing, and holds in his hands the 
lives of five men.” 

“ Well,” the officer retorted sharply, “ what do we care for them ? If they 
were such fools as to let you capture them, they must suffer the consequences of 
their madness.” 

“Good!” We will retire,” Unicorn said haughtily. “Longer discourse is 
needless.” 

“A moment!” the general exclaimed. “All may be yet arranged. An 
affair like the present cannot be settled all in a hurry : we must reflect on the pro- 
positions made to us. My son is a chief, and will grant us reasonable time to 
offer him a reply.” 

“ My father has spoken wisely,” Unicorn presently made answer. “ To- 
morrow, at the twelfth hour, I will come for the final answer of the pale-faces, 
But my father will promise me not to order the punishment of the prisoner s till 
he has told me the decision he has come to.” 

“ Be it so,” the general answered. “ But what will the Comanches do till 
then ? ” 

“ They will leave the town as they entered it, and bivouac on the plain.” 

“ Agreed on.” 

“ The Master of Life has heard my father’s promise. If he break his word, 
and possess a forked tongue, the blood shed will fall on his head.” 

The Comanche uttered these words with a significant tone that made the 
general tremble inwardly j then he bowed to the assembly, and left the hall 
with his companions. 


CHAPTER XXVi. 

PSYCHOLOGICAL. 




About half a leagfue to the west of Santa Fe three men and a woman were 
seated behind a dense clump of trees, which sheltered while rendering them 
unseen, over a bois-de-vache fire, supping with good appetite, and chatting to- 
gether. The three men were Red Cedar’s sons; the female was Ellen. The 
maiden was pale and sad : her dreamy eye wandered around with a distraught 
expression. 

“ Hum !” Sutter said, “what the deuce can keep the old one so long? He 
told us he should be back by four o’clock at the latest.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” Nathan said with a shrug of his shoulders. “ Are you afraid 
that something has happened to him ? The old chap has beak and nails to 
defend himself; and since his last turn up with Don Miguel, the fellow who 
is to be shot to-morrow at Santa Fe, he has kept on his guard.” 

“ I care very little,” Sutter replied brusquely, “ whether father is here 
or not; but I believe we should do well not to wait longer, but return to the 
camp.” 

“ Nonsense ! Our comrades can do without us,” Shaw observed. “ We are 
all right here, so suppose we stop the night. To-morrow it will be day. Well, 
if father has not returned by sunrise, we will go back to camp. Harry and 
Dick can keep good order till our return.” 

“ In truth, Shaw is right,” Nathan said. “ Father is at times so strange, that 
he might be angry with us for not having waited for him.” 

“ Let us stay, then,” Sutter remarked carelessly. “ I ask for nothing better. 
We shall only have to keep the fire up, and so one of us will watch while the 
others sleep.” 

“Agreed on,” Nathan replied. “In that way, if the old man comes during 
our sleep, he will see that we waited for him.” 

The three brothers arose. Sutter and Nathan collected a pile of dry wood to 
maintain the fire, while Shaw intertwined a few branches to make his sister a 
sufficient shelter for the night. The two elder brothers thrust their feet to- 
ward the fire, wrapped themselves in their blankets, and went to sleep. Shaw, 
after stirring up the fire, threw himself at the foot of a larch tree, and letting 
his head sink on his chest, plunged into deep and painful meditation. 

This poor boy, hardly twenty years of age, was a strange composite of good 
and evil qualities. Reared in the desert, he had grown up like one of its 
native trees, thrusting out here and there branches full of powerful sap. No- 
thing had ever thwarted his instincts, no matter what their nature might be. 
Possessing no cognizance of justice and injustice, he had never been able to 
appreciate the squatter’s conduct, or see the injury he did society by the life he 
led. 

Shaw, as we have said, was thinking. He was in love ! He was dreaming 
of Dona Oara. He loved her, as he was capable of loving, with that passionate 
impetuosity, that violence of feeling, to which his uncultivated mind adapted 
him. The sight of the maiden caused him a strange trouble, which he did 
rot attempt to account for. He was yielding to these crushing thoughts, 
when he suddenly felt a hand laid on his shoulder. On turning, Ellen stood 
before him, upright and motionless, like the white apparitions of the German 
legends. 


68 


The Trad' Hunter. 


“ No/’ she answered in a voice soft as a bird’s song. “ Brother, my heart is 
sad.” 

” What is the matter, Ellen ? Why not enjoy a few hours of that repose so 
necessary for you ? ” 

” My heart is sad, I tell you, brother,” she went on. “ In vain do I seek 
sleep — it flies far from me.” 

” Sister, tell me the cause of your sufferi.ngs, and perhaps I can appease the 
grief that devours you.” 

” Can you not guess it?” 

” I do not understand you.” 

” On the contrary, you understand, me too well, Shaw, she said with a sigh. 
” You heart rejoices at this moment at the misfortune of the woman you should 
defend.” 

The young man blushed. 

” What can I do ? ” he murmured faintly. 

” Everything, if you have the firm will,” she exclaimed energetically. 

” No,” Shaw went on; “the person of whom you speak is the old man’s 
prisoner. I cannot contend against my father.” ( 

“ You seek in vain to hide your thoughts from me,” said Ellen harshly. ” I 
read your heart as an open book : your sorrow is feigned, and you rejoice at 
the thought that in future you will be by Dona Clara’s side.” 

” I ! ” he exclaimed with an angry start. 

“Yes, you only see in her captivity a means to approach her.” 

“You are harsh to me, sister Heaven is my witness that, were it possible, 

1 would at once restore her the liberty torn from her.” 

“You do not because you will not, Shaw. Remember that women only 
love men in proportion to the sacrifices they make for them ; they despise 
cowards.” 

“But how to save her } ” 

“ That is your affair, Shaw.” 

“ At least give me some advice which will help me to escape from the diffi- 
cult position in which I find myself.” 

“ In such serious circumstances your heart must guide you, and you must 
only ask counsel of it.” 

“ But the old one?” Shaw said hesitatingly. 

“ Our father will not know your movements.” 

“Good!” the young man remarked, half convinced; “but I do not know 
where the maiden is hidden.” 

“ I will tell you, if you swear to do all in your power to save her.” 

“ I swear to obey you, Ellen. If I do not succeed m carrying the girl off, I 
will at any rate employ all my intellect to obtain that result.” 

“ Dona Clara is confined at the Rancho del Coyote ; she was entrusted to 
Andres Garote. You will save her?” 

“ At all events I will try to free her from the hands of the man who guards 
her.” 

“Goodl” the maiden remarked. “Lose no time: my father’s absence 
alarms me. Perhaps at this moment he is preparing a safer hiding-place for 
his prisoner.” 

“ Your idea is excellent, sister. Who knows whether it is not too late 
to tear from the old man the prey he covets. I have not a moment to lose. 
If the old man returned I should be compelled to remain here. But who will 
keep watch while my brothers sleep ? ” 

“ I will,” the maiden answered resolutely. 


Diamond cut Diamond. 


b9 


Rising hurriedly, he kissed his sister, threw his rifle over his shoulder, and 
ran off in the direction of Santa Fe. When he had disappeared in the gloom, 
and the sound of his footsteps had died Out in the distance, the girl fell on the 
ground, muttering in a low, sad voice, 

“Will he succeed?” 


CHAPTER XXVIl. 

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 

Red Cedar did not remain long under the effect of the startling insult he had 
received. Pride, wrath, and, before all, the desire to avenge himself, restored 
his strength, and a few minutes after Don Pablo Zarate’s departure the squatter 
had regained all his audacity. 

“ You see, senor padre,” he said, addressing the monk, “ that our little plans 
are known : we must, therefore, make haste if we do not wish to see persons 
break in here, from whom it is of the utmost importance to conceal ourselves. 
To-morrow night at the latest, perhaps before, we shall start. Do not stir 
from here till my return. Your face is too well known at Santa Fe for you to 
venture to show it.” 

“ Hum ! ” the monk muttered, “that demon, whom I fancied dead, is a rude 
adversary. Fortunately we shall soon have nothing more to fear from his 
father, for I hardly know how we should get out of it.” 

“ If the son has escaped us,” Red Cedar said with an Ugly smile, “that is 
fortunately not the case with the fathei.” 

“ I wish it most earnestly, canario ! for he is a determined man ; but I Con- 
fess to you that I shall not be entirely at my ease till I have seen him fall be- 
neath the bullets of the soldiers.” 

“ You will not have long to wait. General Ventura has ordered me to go 
and meet the regiment of dragoons he expects, in order to hurry them on, and 
bring them into the town this very night, if possible, when he will give the 
order for execution without delay.” 

“ May Heaven grant it ! But.” he added with a sigh of regret, “ what a pity 
that most of our scamps deserted us ! We should have almost arrived at the 
placer by this time, and been safe from the vengeance of our enemies.” 

“ Patience, senor padre : all is for the best, perhaps. Trust to me. Andres, 
my horse.” 

“ You will start at once, then ? ” 

“ Yes. I recommend you to watch carefully over our prisoner.” 

The monk shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Our affairs are tolerably well embarrassed already ; then why burden our- 
selves with a woman ? ” 

.The squatter frowned, 

■f “ Thai is my busin-ess,” he exclaimed in a peremptory tone. “Keep all 
* stupid observations to yourself.” 

( And mounting his horse. Red Cedar galloped out of Santa Fe. 

“ Hum ! ” Andres Garote said as he watched him depart, “ what a diabolical 
eye 1 Though I have known him several years, I never saw him like that 
before.” 

Without further remarks he arranged matters in the rancho, repairing as 
V**!' Jts he could the disorder caused by the previous struggle ; then he took a 


QO 


The TtoiT Hu filer. 


look round him. The monk, with his elbows on the table and a cigarette in 
his mouth, was drinking the fluid left in the bottle. 

“ Why, senor padre,” the ranchero said, “ docs not the time seem to you to 
go very slowly ? ” 

“ Extraordinarily so.” 

“ If you like we could easily shorten it.*' 

“ In what way ? ” 

“ Oh, for instance, with these.” 

And Andres drew from his boot a pack of greasy cards, which he complacent- 
ly spread out on the table. 

“ Ah 1 that is a good idea,” the monk exclaimed with sparkling eyes. “ Let 
us have a game of monte.” 

“ At your orders.” 

“Don Andres, you are a most worthy gentleman. What shall we play for ? ” 

“ Ah, hang it ! that is true ; we naust play for something,” the ranchero said, 
scratching his head. 

“ The merest trifle, simply to render the game interesting.” 

“Yes, but to do that a man must possess the trifle." 

“ Do not let that trouble you. If you permit me I will make you a pro- 
posal.” 

“ Do so, senor. You are a remarkably clever man, and can have none but 
bright ideas.” 

The monk bowed to this flattering insinuation. 

“This is it: we will play, if you like, for the share of the gold we shall 
receive when we reach the placer.” 

“ Done ! ” the ranchero shouted enthusiastically. 

“ Well,” the monk said, drawing from his pocket a pack of cards no less 
dirty than the others, “ we can at any rate kill time.” 

“ What ! you have cards too ? ” the ranchero remarked. 

“ Yes. and quite new, as you see.” 

Andr6s bowed with an air of conviction, and the game began at once. 

Although Garote was a passed master in trickery, and had displayed all his 
science, he found in the monk so skilful an adversary that, after more than three 
hours of an obstinate struggle, thev both found themselves as little advanced as at 
the outset. The monk, however, on coming to the rancho, had an object which Red 
Cedar was far from suspecting. 

Fray Ambrosio rested his arms on the table, bent his body slightly forward, 
and while carelessly playing with the cards, which he amused himself by 
sorting, he said to the ranchero, as he fixed a scrutinising glance upon him — 

“ Shall we talk a little, Don An.dies ? ” 

“ Willingly,” the latter replied, who had partly risen, but now fell back on his chair. 
By a secret foreboding Andres Garote had guessed that the monk wished to make 
some important proposal to him. 

“ Senor Don Andres,” he said in a soft and insinuating voice, “ what a happiness 
that your poor brother, on dying, revealed to me the secret of the rich placer, which 
he concealed even from yourself! ” 

“It is true,” Andres answered, turning slightly pale, “ if was very fortunate, 
senor padre.” 

“ Is it not so ? for without it the immense fortune would have been lost to you 
and all else. Well, at this moment I have a horrible fear that we have deterred our 
departure too long, and that some of those European vagabonds we were speaking of 
just now may have discovered our placer. Tiiose scoundrels have a peculiar scent 
for finding gold ! ” 


Diamond cut Diamond, 




“ C'arat, senor padre I” Andres said, “that would drive me mad— an affair so 
well managed hitherto.” 

“That is true,” Fray Ambrosio said in corroboration. “I could never console 
myself.* 

“ Demojiios ! I have as great an interest in it as yourself, senor padre,” the 
gambusino replied. 

At these words Fray Ambrosio had incredible difficulty in repressing a smile. 
“However,” he said, after an instant’s reflection, “supposing the placer is 
intact, and that no one has discovered it, we shall have a long journey to reach it.” 

“Yes,” the gambusino remarked significantly; “the road is difficult and 
broadcast with perils innumerable.” 

“ We must march with our chins on our shoulders, and finger on the rifle- 
trigger ” 

“ Fight nearly constantly with wild beasts or Indians — — ” 

“ In a word, do you not believe that the woman Red Cedar has carried off will 
prove a horrid bore? ’’ 

“ Dreadfully so,” Andies made answer. 

“ Wnat is to be done? ” 

“ Hang it ! that is difficult to say.” 

“ Is she here ? ” 

Yes,” the gambusino said, pointing to a door; “ in that room.’* 

“ Suppose we restore her to her family ? ” said the monk. 

“ I have thought of that already.” 

“ But who is to undertake this delicate mission ? ” asked the monk. 

“I, con mil demonios the gambusino exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with 
greed. 

“ But if Red Cedar were to find out,” the monk remarked, ” that we had 
surrendered his prisoner?** 

‘‘ Who will tell him ? ” 

“ I am sure I shan’t.” 

“ Do not let us lose time, then. Y ou have a horse ? ” 

“ I have two.” 

“ Bravo! You will place Dona Clara on one, and mount the other yourself.” 

“ And go straight to the Hacienda de la Nona.” 

“Tt at is it. Don Pablo will be deliglned to recover his sister, whom he expected 
never to see again, and will not haggle over the price he p< ys for her deliverance.” 

“ Famous! In that w-ay we run no risk of not reaching the placer, as our parly 
will only consist of men.” 

“ Excel len ly reasoned ! ” 

Andifes Garote rose with a smile which would have caused the monk to reflect, 
had he seen it ; but at the same moment the latter was rubbing his hands, saying 
in a low voice, and with a most satisfied air — 

“ Now, my scamp, I’ve got you.” 

At - this moment two vigorous blows were dealt on the door of the rancho, 
which had been carefully bolted after Red Cedar’s departure. The two accomplices 
started. 

44 Must I open ?’* Andres asked. 

“ Yes,” the monk answered ; “ hesitation or refusal might create alarm.” 

The ranchero went to open the door, which the new-c mer threatened to break in, 
A man walked in, who took a careful glance around, then doffed his hat, and bowed. 
The confederates exchanged a glance of vexation on recognizing him, for he was no 
other than Shaw, Red Ce lar’s youngest son. 

“ I am afraid I disturb you, gentlemen,” the young man said, with an ironical smile 


Q2 


The Trail- Hunter. 


“Not at all,” Andr&s made answer; “on the contrary, we are delighted to sec 
you.” 

“You are very late at Santa Fe,” the monk remarked. 

“ It is true,” the American said, with some embarrassment ; “ I am looking foi 
my father, and fancied 1 should find him here.” 

“ He was so a few hours back, but was obliged to leave us.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

This exclamation was rather drawn from the young man by the necessity he 
felt of replying, than through any interest he took in the information afforded him. 
He was evidently pre-occupied ; but Fray Ambrosio did not appear to notice it, as he 
continued— 

“ Yes ; it appears that his Excellency the Governor ordered your father to go and 
meet a regiment of dragoons intended to reinforce the garrison, and hasten its 
march.” 

“ That is true ; I forgot it.” 

The monk and the miner did not at all understand the American’s conduct, and 
lost themselves in conjectures as to the reasons tliat brought him to the rancho. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A STORMY DISCUSSION. 

Shaw was not timid, as we have said — he ought rather he accused of the opposite 
excess; he was not the man once his resolution was formed, to let anything soever 
turn him from it. His hesitation was not long; he suddenly rose, and violently 
stamping his rifle butt on the ground, looked at the two men, while saying in a firm 
voice — 

“ Be frank, my presence here at this hour astonishes you, and you ask yourselves 
what cause can have brought me.” 

“ Sir,” the monk said. 

“ Pardon me,” Shaw exclaimed, interrupting him, “ the cause you will seek in 
vaiti. 1 will tell you : I have come to deliver Dona Clara.” 

“ Can it be possible ? ’’ the two men exclaimed. 

“ It is so ; whether you like it or not, I care little. I am the man to hold my own 
against both of you, and no one can prevent me restoring the maiden to her father, 
as I have resolved on doing. * 

“ What do I hear?” sa'd Fray Ambrosio. 

“ Hum ! ” the young man continued quickly, “ believe me, do not attempt any 
useless resistance.” ^ 

“ But we have not the slighest wish 

“ Take care,” he interrupted him in a voice full of menace and frowning, “ I will 
only leave the house accompanied by her I wish to save.” ' ’ 

“ Sir,” the monk remarked, in an authoritative voice, “ twow'ords of explanation ” 

“ Make haste ! ” he answered, “ for I warn you that mv patience is exhausted ” 

“ I do not insist on your listening anv length of time. You have come here you 
say, with the intention of delivering Dona Clara? ” * ^ 

“ Yes,” he answered impatiently, “ and if you attempt to f^ppnse it ” 

Pardon me, the monk interrupted, “ such a determination on your pare naturally 
surprises us.” ^ ^ 

“ Why so ? ” the young man said, raising his head haughtily. 


A Stormy Disaissun. 


9J 


Because,” Fray Ambrosio answered tranouiUy, “you are (he son of Red Cedar.” 

“ Enough talking,’’ Shaw exclaimed violently ; “ will you or not give me up her 
I have come to seek ? ” 

“ I must know, in the first place, what you intend doing with her.” 

“ How does that concern you ? ” 

“ More than you imagine. Since that girl has been a prisoner, I constituted my- 
self — if not her guardian, for the dress I wear toi bids that — her defender; in that 
quality I have the ri^ht of knowing for what reason you, the son of the man who 
tore her from her family, have come to demand her surrender.” 

The young man had listened to these remarks with an impatience that 
became momentarily more visible. When the monk stopped, he looked at 
him for a moment with a strange expression, then, walked uu so close as 
almost to touch him, drew a pair of pistols from his girdle and pointed them 
at the monk. 

“ Surrender Donn Clara to me,” he said. 

Fray Ambrosio had attentively followed all the American’s movements, anJ 
when the latter put the pistcrl muzzles to his chest, the monk, witri an ai rion 
rapid as lightning, also drew two pistols from his girdle, and placed them on 
his adversary’s chest. There was a moment of supreme e.xpectation, of indes- 
cribable agony ; the tw’O men were motionless, face to face, pai'.tir g, each with 
his fingers on a trigger, pale, and their brows dank with cold persp' ration. 

All at once the door of the rancho, which had not been fastened again after 
the squatter’s entry, w’as violently thrown back and a man appeared ; it was 
Father Seraphin. At a glance he judged the position, and boldly threw him- 
self between the foemen, hurling them back, but not uttering a word. The two 
men recoiled, and lowered their weapons, but continued to menace each other 
with their glances. 

“ What ! ” the missionary said in a deep voice, “ have I arrived just in time 
to prevent a double murder, gentkmen ? In Heaven’s name, hide those homi- 
cidal weapons.” 

“ Withdiaw, father ; you have nothing to do here. Let me treat this man 
as he deserves,” the squatter answered, “ his life ’oelongs to me.” 

“ Young man,” the priest replied, “ the life of a fellow-being belongs only to 
God, who has the right to deprive him of it ; lower your weapons — and you 
who dishonour the frock you wear, throw away those pistols which sully your 
}iands — a minister of the altar should not employ otner weapons than the 
Gospel.” 

The monk bowed, and caused his pistols to disappear, saying in a soft and 
cautious voice, ‘‘ My father, I was compelled to defend my life v^hlch that 
maniac assailed. Heaven is my witness that I reprove these violent measures, 
too frequently employed in this unhappy cotutery ; but this man came into the 
house with threats on his lips; he insisted on our delivering a wretched girl 
whom this caballero,” he said, pointing to the gambusino, “ and myself did not 
think proper to surrender.” 

Andres corroborated the monk’s words. 

“ I wish to save that young girl from your hands,” Shaw said, and 'esi.ore 
her to her father.” 

“Of whom are you speaking, friend P” the missionary asked, with a 
secret beating of his heart. 

“Of whom should I speak, save Dona Clarr. de Z.Trate, whom these villains 
retain here by force?” 

“ Can it be possible?” Father Seraphin exclaimed in amazement. “ Dona 
Clara here ? ” 


94 


The Trail -Hunter, 


** Ask those men,” Shaw answered roughly. 

“ Is it true? ” the priest inquired. 

“ It is,” the gamhusino answered. 

Father Seraphin frowned, and his pale forehead was covered with a febrile 
ruddiness. 

“ Sir,” he said, in a voice choking with indignation, “I summon you, in the 
name of that God whom you serve, and whose minister you lay claim to being, 
to restore at once to liberty the hapless girl whom you have so unworthily 
imprisoned, in defiance of all laws, human and divine.” 

Fray Ambrosio bowed ; he let his eyes fall, and said in a hypocritical voice — 

” Father, you are mistaken as regards myself. I had nothing to do with the 
carrying off of that poor child, which, on the contrary, I opposed to the utmost 
of my power; and that is so true, father,” he added, “that at the moment 
when this young madman arrived, the worthy gambusino and myself had 
resolved, at all risks, on restoring Dona Clara to her family.” 

” I should wish to believe you, sir ; if I am mistaken, as you say, you will 
forgive me.” 

‘‘You shall be satisfied, father,” the monk replied. At a signal from him 
Garote left the room. During the few words interchanged between the two 
men, Shaw remained motionless, hesitating, not knowing what he ought to do; 
but he suddenly made up his mind, and turned to the missionary. 

” Father,” he said respectfully, ‘‘ my presence is now needless here. Fare* 
well ; my departure will prove to you the purity of my intentions.” 

And turning suddenly on his heel, he hurried out of the rancho. A few 
moments after his departure the gambusino returned. Dona Clara following 
him. 

Dona Clara no longer wore the dress of the whites, for Red Cedar, in order 
to render her unrecognizable, had compelled her to don the In.lian garb, which 
the maiden wore with an innate grace that heightened its strange elegance. 
Like all Indian squaws, she was attired in iwo wtiite chemises of striped calico 
— the one fastened round the neck, fell to the hips; while the other drawn in at 
the waist, descended to her ankles. Her neck was adorned with collars of fine 
pearls, mingled with those small shells called wampum, and employed by the 
Indians as money. Her arms and ankles were surrounded by wide circles of 
gold, and a small diadem of the same metal relieved the pale tint of her fore- 
head. Mocassins of deer-hide, embroidered with wool and beads, of every 
colour, imprisoned her small and high-arched feet. 

As she entered the room, a shadow of melancholy and sadness spread over 
her face, adding, were that possible, a further charm to her person. On seeing 
the missionary. Dona Clara uttered a cry of joy, and rushing towards him fell 
into his arms, and murmured in a heart-rending voice — 

‘‘ Father! save me ! save me ! ” 

“ Be calm, my daughter ! ” the priest said to her, gently. *‘ You have nothing 
more to fear.” 

‘‘ Come ! ” she exclaimed, wildly, “ let us fly from this accursed house.” 

‘‘ Yes, my daughter,” we will go ; set your mind at rest.” 

‘‘ You see, father,” Fray Ambrosio said, hypocritically, “ that I did not 
deceive you.” 

The missionary cast at the monk a glance of undefinable meaning. 

‘‘ I trust that you spoke truly,” he replied ; “ the God who gauges hearts will 
judge you according to works. I will rescue this maiden at once.” 

“ Do so, father; I am happy to know her under your protection.” 

And picking up the cloak which Don Pablo left after blinding Red Cedar, he 


The Hjyj.iiery. 


95 


placed it delicately on the slv.idderiniGf shoulders of Dona Clara, in order to con. 
c^-al her Indian carb. Father Seraphin drew her arm through his own, and led 
her from the rancho.^ Ere long they disappeared in the darkness. 

“Well,” said Andres Garote, “what do you think, senor padre, ot all that 
has happened?” > r > 

“ Perhaps things are better as they are.” 

“ And Red Cedar ? ” 

“ I undertake to render ourselves as white in his sight as the snows in the 
CafFre de Perote.” 

“ Hum 1 it will be difficult.” 

“ Perhaps so.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE MYSTERY. 

On leaving the Rancho del Coyote, Red Cedar dug his spurs into his horse’s 
flanks, and galloped in a south-western direction. Throwing suspicious 
glances on either side, he went on thus for about three-quarters of an hour, 
when he reached a house, in one of the windows of which burned three wax- 
tapers. 

The lights thus arranged were evidently a signal for the squatter, for so soon 
as he came io the house he stopped and dismounted, attached his horse to a 
larch-tree, and prudently concealing himself beiiind a thic tet, imitated thrice 
at equal intervals the hu-liu of an owl. The lights burning in the window were 
extinguished, as if by enchantment At this moment a voice could be heard 
from the house Red Cedar was watching so carefully. The squatter listened ; 
the speaker leaned for a second out of a window, looked cautiously round, and 
disappeared mutteiing loud enough for the American to overhear — - 

“ Ail is quiet in the neighbourhood.” 

“ Still,” the squatter said, without showing himself, “ the coyotes prowl about 
the plain.” 

“ Are you coming or going?” the man at the window continued. 

“ Both,” the squatter answered, still hidden behind his bush. 

“ You can come on, for you are expected.” 

“ I know it ; hence here 1 am.” 

While making this answer, the squatter left his hiding-place, and placed him- 
S''lf before the door with folded arms, like a man who has nothing to fear. The 
door was cautiously opened ; a man emerged, carefully wrapped up in a wide 
cloak, which only allowed eyes to be seen, that flashed in the gloom like a 
jackal’s. This person walked straight up to Red Cedar. 

“ Well,” he asked, in a low voice, “ have you reflected ?’* 

“Yes, and I refuse; because I am growing tired of constantly taking 
in my nets game by which others profit, and which I ought to keep as a safe- 
guard.” 

“ Y ou call this girl a guarantee ? ” 

“ By heaven ! what else do you mean to make of her ? ” 

“ Do not compaie me with you. scoundrel ! ' 

“ What is the difference between us? I am a scoundrel, I grant; but, by 
heaven, you are another, my master, however powerful you may be.” 

“ Listen, caballero I ” the stranger answered in a cutting voice. “ I will lOM 


The Trail’ Hunter, 




no more of my time in discoursing with you. I want that girl, and will nave 
her, whatever you may do to prevent me.” 

‘‘ Good ; in that case you declare war against me ? the squatter said with a 
certain tinge of alarm. 

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. 

“ We have known'one another long enough to be perfectly well acquainted 
we can only be friends or foes. Is not that your opinion ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, then, hand Dona Clara over to me, and I wi.l give you the papers 
which ” 

“ Enough ! ” the squatter said sharply. “ Have you those papers about you ? ” 

The stranger burst into a laugh. 

“ Do you take me for such a fool ? ” he said. “ No, I have not those papers 
about me. I am not such an ass as to lisk assassination at your hands.” 

“ What would your death profit me ? ” 

“ Hang it all, if it were only my scalp you would be sure to receive at least 
fifty dollars for it.” 

At this mournful jest the squatter began laughing. 

“ I did not tliink of that,” he said, gaily. 

“ In a month ftom to-day, hour for hoar, day for day, wherever you may be, 
I shall present myself to you.” 

“ For what purpose ? ” the squatter asked. 

“To repeat my demand with reference to the prisoner.” 

“Then, as now, I snail reply, ‘No roy mast.;r.’ ” 

“ Perhaps so. Live and learn. Now, good-bye, and mav the deuce, your 
patron saint, preserve you in good health until our next meeting.” 

“ Good, good ! threats do not frighten me. Demonios, since 1 have been tra- 
versing the desert, I have found myself opposed to enemies quite as dangerous 
as you.” 

“ That is possible; Red Cedar; but believe me, meditate carefully on my words.’ 

“Hum! Well, then, listen in your turn. In the desert every man aimed 
with a good rifle has nothing to fear from whomsoever. Well, my rifle is ex- 
cellent, I ha\e a sure aim, and 1 say no more.’’ 

“Nonsense. What next ?” the stranger interrupted him. “ You are mad I 
I defy you.” 

“ Hang it, though, what can be your motive for wishing to have this girl in 
your power ? ” 

“ That is no affair of yours.” 

“ You shall not have her.” 

“ We shall see. Good-bye, Red Cedar.” 

“ Good-bye, Don Melchior, or whatever be the name you please to bear.” 

The stranger made no reply, but turned his head with a gesture of contempt, 
and whistled. A man emerged from the house, holding a horse by the bridle ; 
at one bound the stranger reached the saddle, and ordered the servant to with- 
draw. And loosing his rein, the stranger started at a gallop, not condescending 
even to turn his head. Red Cedar looked after him with an indescribable ex- 
pression of ri'ge. 

“ Oh,” he muttered in a low voice, “demon 1 shall I never free myself from 
your clutches 1 ” 

And with a motion rapid as thought he shouldered his rifle. All at once the 
latter turned his horse, and stood right opposite Red Cedar. 

“ Mind not to miss me ! ” he cried, with a burst ot laughter that caused a cold 
perspiration to bead on the bandit’s forehead. 


Ttit Mystery. 


97 


The latter let his rifle fall, saying in a hollow voice, “ He is right, and I am 
mad ! If I only had the papers 1 ” 

The stranger waited for a moment calm and motionless ; then he started 
again, and soon disappeared in the darkness. Red Cedar stood with his body 
bowed forward, and his ears on the watch, so long as the horse’s hoofs could 
be heard ; then he returned to his own steed, and bounded into the saddle.” 

” Now to go and warn the dragoons,” he said. 

The squatter had scarce departed ere several men appeared from either side * 
they were Valentine, Curumilla, and Don Pablo on the right. Unicorn and 
Eagle-wing on the left. Valentine and his friends were astonished at meeting 
the Comanche chief, whom they believed gone back to his camp ; but the sachem 
explained to them, in a few words, how, at the moment he was crossing the 
spot where they now were, he had heard Red Cedar’s voice, and concealed 
himself in the shrubs in order to overhear the squatter’s colloquy with his 
strange Iriend. 

“ ’Tis strange,” Valentine remarked, as he passed his hand several times 
across his foreliead. I do not know where I have seen the man just now 
talking liere with Red Cedar, but I have a vague reminiscence of having met 
him before.” 

” What shall we do ? ” Don Pablo asked. 

“ Hang it, what we agreed on ; ” and turning to the chief, he said ” Good luck, 
brother, I believe we shall save our friend.” 

” I am sure of it,” the Indian replied, laconically. 

” May heaven hear you, brother,” Valentine continued. ” Act ! while on 
your side, you watch the town for fear of treason. We then will ambush 
ourselves on the road the gambusinos must take, in order to know positively 
the direction in which they are proceeding. Till to-morrow, chief ! ” 

“ Stop ! ” a panting voice exclaimed, and a man suddenly appeared in the 
midst of them. 

” Father Seraphin ! ” Valentine said in surprise. ” What chance brings you 
this way ? ” 

” I was looking for you.” 

” Speak ! speak quickly, father ! Has Don Mig-uel left his prison ? ” 

” Alas ! not yet ; but his daughter is free ! ” 

” Dona Clara free ! ” Valentine shouted joyously. ” Heaven be blessed ! 
where is she ? ” 

“She is temporarily in safety, be assured of that; but let me give you a 
warning, which may perhaps prove useful to you.” 

“ Speak 1 speak ! ” 

“ By order of the governor, Red Cedar has gone to meet the regiment of 
dragoons, coining up to reinforce the Santa Fe garrison.” 

“ Caramba” Valentine said, “ are you sure of your statement, father? ” 

“I am ; in my presence, the men who carried off Dona Clara spoke 
about it.” 

“ All is lost if these soMiers arrive.” 

“Yes,” the missionary said ; “but, howto prevent it?” 

Curumilla lightly touched the leader’s arm. 

“ What do you want, chief ? ” 

“ The Comanches are warriors,” Curumilla ar.swered. 

“ Ah ! ” Valentine exclaimed, and tapping his forehead with delight, ** that is 
true, chief ; you save us.” 

Curumilla smiled with pleasure.” 

“ While you go in pursuit of the soldiers,” said Don Pablo, “ as I can be of 

G 


The Trail-Hunter, 




no service to you, I will accompany Father Seraphin to my poor sister, whom 
I have not seen so long, and am eager to embrace.” 

“ Do so,” Valentine answered. “ At daybreak you will bring Dona Clara to 
the camp, that 1 may myself deliver her to her father.” 

“ That is agreed.” 

Valentine, Curumilla, and Unicorn rushed out in the plain, while Father 
Seraphin and Don Pablo returned to the town. The two gentlemen, anxious 
to join the girl, did not perceive that they were closely watched by an individual 
who followed their every movement, while careful not to be seen by them. It 
was Nathan, Red Cedar’s eldest son. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE AMBUSCADE. 

The night-breeze had swept the clouds away; the sky, of a deep azure, was 
studded with an infinity of stars ; the night was limpid, the atmosphere so trans- 
parent as to allow the slightest varieties of the landscape to be distinguished. 
About four leagues from Santa Fe', a numerous band of horsemen was following 
a path scarce traced in the tall grass, which approached the town with 
countless turns and windings. These horsemen, who marched in rather 
decent order, formed the regiment of dragoons so anxiously expected by 
General Ventura, 

About ten paces ahead rode four or five officers gaily chatting together, 
among whom was the colonel. 'I'he regiment continued its march slowly, 
advancing cautiously, through fear of losing its way in a perfectly strange 
country. The colonel and his officer*- who had always fought in the States 
bordering the Atlantic, found themselves now for the first time in these savage 
countries. 

” Caballeros,” the colonel suddenly remarked, “ I confess to vou that I am 
completely ignorant as to our whereabouts. Can any one of you throw a light on 
the subject ? This road is fearful, it seems to lead nowhere, and I am afraid 
we have lost our way.” 

“ We are all as ignorant as yourself on that head, colonel,” an officei 
answered. 

“ On my word ! ” the colonel went on, taking a glance of satisfaction around, 
“ we are not in a hurry to reach Santa Fe'. I suppose it makes little difference 
whether we get there to-day or to-morrow. I believe that the best thing 
for us to do is to bivouac here for the rest of the night ; at sunrise we will start 
again.” 

” You are right, colonel,” the officer said, whom he seemed to address most 
particularly, ” a few hours’ delay is of no consequence.” 

” Give the order to halt.” 

The officer immediately obeyed ; the soldiers, wearied with a long night’s 
march, greeted wit.i shouts of joy the order to stop. They d smounted. The 
horses were unsaddled and picketted, camp fires were lighted, in less than an 
hour the bivouac was arranged. 

The colonel, in desiring to camp for the night, had a more serious fear than 
that of losing his way ; it was that of falling in with a party of Indios bravos. 
The colonel was brave, and had proved it on many occasions ; grown gray iit 
harness, he was an old soldier who feared nothing in the world particularly • bu* 


The Amhuscade. 


99 


accustomed to warfare in the interior of the Republic, having never had opposed 
to him any but nearly civilised foes, he professed for the Ind'ians that instinctive 
fear which all the Mexicans entertain, and he would not risk a fight with an 
Apache or Comanche war party in the middle of the night, in a country whose 
resources he did not know, and run the risk of having his regiment cut to 
pieces by such Protean enemies. On the other hand, he was unaware that the 
governor of Santa Fe had such pressing need of his presence, and this 
authorised him in acting with the utmost precaution. Still, so soon as the 
bivouac was established, and the sentries posted, the colonel sent off a dozen 
resolute men under an Alferez to trot up the country and try to procure a 
guide. 

The little squad of troopers sent out to beat up the country had started at a 
gallop, but it soon reduced its pace, caring little for the important mission with 
which they were intrusted. The moon rose on the horizon, shedding her 
fantastic rays over the ground. A majestic silence hovered over the plain, only 
disturbed at intervals by those sounds, without any known cause, which are 
heard on the Savannahs, and which seem to be the respiration of the sleeping 
world. Suddenly the mocking-bird sung twice, and its plaintive and soft song 
resounded melodiously through the air. 

“ Hallo.” one of the dragoons said, addressing his comrade, “ that’s a bird 
that sings very late.” 

“ An evil omen,” the other said. 

“ Canarios I what omen are you talking about, comrade ?” 

“ I have always heard say,” the second speaker remarked sententiously, 
**that when you hear a bird sing on your left at night it predicts misfortune,” 

" The deuce confound you and your prognostics.” 

At this moment the song, which appeared previously some distance off, could 
be heard much more close, and seemed to come from some trees on the sides of 
the path the dragoons were following. The Alferez raised his head and 
stopped, as if mechanically trying to explain the sound that smote his ears ; but 
all became silent again, so he shook his head and continued his conversation. 
The detachment had been out more than an hour. The Alferez was about 
to give orders to return to camp when one of the troopers pointed out to him 
some heavy, black forms, apparently prowling about unsuspiciously. 

“ What on earth can that be ? ” the officer asked. 

“ Caspita! ” one of the dragoons exclaimed, “ that is easy to see ; they are 
browsing deer ! ” 

“ Deer ! ” said the Alferez, in whom the hunter’s instinct was suddenly 
aroused, “ there are at least thirty ; suppose we try to catch some.” 

“ It is difficult.” 

“ Pshaw ! ’’ another soldier shouted, “ it is light enough for each of us to send 
them a bullet.” 

“ You must by no means use your carbines,” the Alferez interposed sharply ; 
“if our shots re-echoed through the mountains, and caught the ears of the 
Indians, we should be ruined.” 

“ What is to be done, then ? ” 

“ Lasso them, caspita^ as you wish to try and catch them.” 

“ That is true; I did not think of that.” 

The dragoons, delighted at the opportunity of indulging in their favourite 
sport, dismounted, fastened their horses to the road-side trees, and seized their 
lassos. They then advanced cautiously toward the deer, which continued 
grazing tranquilly, without appearing to suspect that enemies were so near 
them. On arriving at a short distance from the game, the dragoons separated 


JOO 


The Trail Hunter, 


in order to have room for whirling their lassos, and making a covering of each 
tree, they managed to approach within fifteen paces of the animals. Then 
they stopped, exchanged glances, carefully calculated the distance, and, at a 
signal from their leader, sent their lassos whizzing through the air. 

A strange thing happened at this moment, however. All the deer-hides 
fell simultaneously to the ground, displaying Valentine, Curumilla, and a 
dozen Comanche warriors, who, profiting by the stupor of the troopers at 
their extraordinary metamorphosis hunted the hunters by throwing lassos over 
their shoulders and hurled them to the ground. The ten dragoons and their 
leader were prisoneis. 


CHAITER XXXI. 

A FRIENDLY DISCUSSION. 

After leaving his enemy (for the mysterious man with whom he had so stormy 
a discussion could be nothing else). Red Cedar set out to join the regiment, 
and hasten its arrival according to the orders he had received. In spite of him- 
self the squatter was suffering from extraordinary nervousness, and involunta- 
rily he went over the vaiious points of the conversation with the person who 
took such such precautions in communicating with him. The threats he had 
proffered recurred to his mind. It appeared as if the bandit, who feared no- 
thing in the world, had good reasons, however, for trembling in the presence 
of the man who, for more than an hour had crushed him with his irony. What 
reason could be so powerful as to produce so startling a change in this indomit- 
able being? No one could have said; for the squatter was master of his 
secret, and would have mercilessly killed anybody he suspected of having read 
even a portion of it. 

The reason was, at any rate, very powerful ; for after a few minutes of deep 
thought, his hand let go the reins and his head fell on his breast ; the horse, no 
longer feeling the curb, stopped, and began nibbling the young tree slioots. The 
squatter did not notice this halt ; he was thinking, and hoarse exclamations 
now and then came from his chest, like the growling of a wild beast. At length 
he raised his head. 

“ No 1 ” he shouted, as he directed a savage glance at the starlit sky, “ any 
struggle with that demon is impossible. I must fly, so soon as possible, to the 
prairies of the Far West. I will leave this implacable foe ; I will fly from hina, 
as the lion does, carrying off my prey in my claws.” 

After having uttered these words in a low voice, in the fashion of men wont 
to live in solitude. Red Cedar appeared to regain all his boldness and energy. 
He looked savagely around, and, burying his spurs in his horse’s flanks, he 
started with the speed of an arrow in the direction of the rancho, which he had 
left but a few hours previously, and where his two accomplices still remained. 

The monk and the gambusino, delighted at the unforeseen termination of 
the scene we recently narrated, delighted above all at having got rid of Dona 
Clara without being immediately mixed up in her escape, tranquilly resumed 
their game of monte, and played with that mental satisfaction pro iuced by the 
certainty of having nothing to reproach themselves with, disputing with the 
utmost obstinacy for the few reals they still happened to have in their pockets. 
In the midst of a most interesting game they heard the furious gallop of a horse 
up the paved street. Instinctively they stopped and listened ; a secret fore- 


A Friendly Discussion, 


loi 


boding seemed to warn them that this horse was coming to th,'^ rancho, and 
that its rider wanted them. 

The horse stopped short before the rancho ; a man dismounted, and the door 
shook beneath the tremendous blows of his fists. 

“ Hum ! ” the gambusino whispered, as he blew out the solitary candle that 
illumined the room. “ Who the deuce can come at this advanced hour of the 
night ? I have a great mind not to open.” 

Strange to say Fray Ambrosio had apparently regained all his serenity. 
With a smiling face, crossed arms, arid back leaned against the wail, beseemed 
to be a perfect stranger to what perplexed his mate so furiously. At Garote’s 
remark an ironical smiled played round his pale lips for a second. 

“ You are at liberty to act as you please, gossip ; still I think it my duty to 
warn vou of one thing.” 

“What is it ?“ 

“ That, if you do not open your door, the man, whoever he may be, now 
battering it, is very capable of breaking it in.” 

“ You speak very much at your ease, senor padre,” the gambusino answered ; 
“ suppose it be Red Cedar ? ” 

“ The grea.er reason to open the door. If you hesitate, he will begin to 
suspect you ; and then take care, for he is a man capable of killing you like 
a dog.” 

“ That is posible ; but do you think that, in such a case, you will escape with 
clean hnnds ? ” 

“ Will you open demonios?" a rough voice shouted. 

“ Red Cedar ! ” both men whispered. 

“ I am coming,” Andres replied in a voice which terror caused to tremble. 

He rose unwil ingly, and walked slowly towards the door. 

“ A little patience, caballero,” the gambusino said, in that honeyed voice 
peculiar to Mexicans when they meditate some roguery. “ Coming, coming.” 

And he began unbarring the door. 

“ Make haste ! ” the squatter howled. 

“Huml it is surely he!” the gambusino thought, “Who are you?” he 
asked. 

“What! who am I ? ” Red Cedar exclaimed, bounding with wrath. “Did 
you not recognise me, or are \ou having a game with me ? ” 

“I never have a game wiih anyc ne,“ Andre? repi ed unperturbably ; but I 
warn you that, although 1 fancy I recognise your voice, I shall not open till you 
mention your name.” 

“ I will bieak the door down.” 

“ Try it,” the gambusino shouted, “ and by our Lady of Pilar I will send a bullet 
through your head.” 

At this threat the squatter rushed against the door in incredible fury, with the evident 
intention of breaking it in ; but, contrary to his expectations, though it creaked and 
groaned on its hinges, it did not give way. Andres Garote had indulged in a line 
of reasoning which was far fr( m being illogical, and revealed a profound knowledge 
of the human heait. He had said to himself, that, as he must face Red Cedar’s 
anger, it would be better to let it reach its paroxysm at once, so as to have only 
the decreasing period to entlure. 

“ Well, then,” the other said furiously, “ I am Red Cedar. Do you recognise me 
now ? ” 

“ Of course; I see that I can open without danger to your excellency.” 

And the gambusino hurriedly drew back the bolts. Red Cedar rushed into the 
room with a yeh of fury, but Andies had pui out the light. 


102 


The Tiall-Hunler. 


“ Hallo ! ” said the squatter. “ What is the meaniug’ of this darkness ? I can see 
nothing-.” 

“ Caspita!'' Andres replied, impudently, “do you think I amuse myself o* nights 
by watching the moon ? I was asleep, compadre.” 

“ That is possible,” the squatter remarked ; “ but that was no reason for keeping 
me so long.” 

“ Prudence is the mother of security. We must not let every comer enter the 
rancho.” 

“ Certainly not ; I approve of that. Still you must have recognised my voice.” 

“True. Still I might be mistaken. It is difficult to know anyone through the 
thickness of a door.” 

“ Very good, then,” Red Cedar said, as if tired of combating arguments which di<. 
not convince him. “ And where is Fray Ambrasio.^” 

“ Here, I suppose; possibly asleep.” 

“After the row I made, that is highly improbable.” 

“ Hang it, he mav be a hard sleeper.” 

“ Hum 1 ” the squatter snorted suspiciously; “ light the candle.” 

Andres struck a match, and Red Cedar looked eagerly round the room; but Fraj 
Ambrosio had disappeare !. 

“ Where is the monk ? ” the American asked.” 

“ I do not know ; probably gone,” 

The squatter shook his head. 

“ All this is not clear,” he muttered ; “ there is treachery behind it.” 

“I'nat is possible,” the gambusino answered calmly. 

Red Cedar bent on Andres eyes that flashed with fury, and roughly seized him by 
the tliroat. 

“ Answer, scoundrel ! ” he shouted. “ What has become of Dona Clara? ” 

“ Let me loose,” he panted, “ you are choking me.” 

“ Wheie is Dona Clara } ” 

The squatter .squeezed more tightly. 

“ A:e : ” Andres whined, “ I tell you I do not know.” 

“Malediction!” Red Cedar went on. “1 v^iil kill you, picaro, if you are 
obstinate.” 

* Let that man go, and 1 will tell you all you wish to know,” was said in a firm 
voice by a hunter, who at this moment appeared on the threshold. 

Ttic two men turned in amazement. 

“ Nathan ! ” Red Cedar shouted on recognising his son. “ What are you doing 
here? ’ 

“ I will tell you, father,” the young man said. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

N.ATHAN. 

Nathan was not asleep, as Ellen supposed, when she urged on Shawto devote himself 
to liberate Dona Clara, and lie had listened attentively totheconveisation. Nathan wa^ 
a man of about thirty years of age, who, both physically and morally, lore a maikeo 
resemblance to his father. Hence the old squatter had conce .trated in him all the 
affection which his uncultivated and savage nature was capable of feeling. Since 
the fatal night, when the chief of the Coras had avenged himself for the burning of 
his village and the murder of Us inhabitants, Nathan’s character had grown still 


Nalhan. 


103 


more gloomy ; a dull and deep hatred boiled in his heart against the whole hnnnn 
race; he only dreamed of assassination ; he had sworn in his hear' to reveiv^e on 
all those who fell into his hands the injury one man had inflicted on him; m a woid, 
Nathan loved none and hated everything. 

When Shaw had disappeared among the bushes, and Ellen, after taking a final glance 
around to convince herself that all w’as in order, re-entered the hut that served her as 
a shelter, Nathan rose cautiously, threw his rifle over his shoulder, and rushed after 
his brother. Another reason urged him to foil Shaw and Ellen’s plans; he had a 
douole grudge against Don Miguel — the first for the stab the Mexican gentleman 
nad given his father ; the second because Don Miguel had compelled him to leave the 
forest in which his family had so dannvjly installed itself. 

Nathan did not lose a moment, but reached Santa Fe by the most direct 
route. Presently he reached an isolated house, not far from which several men 
were conversing together in a low voice. Nathan stopped and listened ; but 
he was too far off, and could distinguish nothing. The squatter’s son, reared 
in the desert, was thoroughly versed in all its stratagems ; with the piercing eye 
of a man accustomed to night journeys on the prairie, he recognised well- 
known persons, and his mind was at once made up. 

He laid himself on the ground, and following the shadow cast by the moon, 
lest he might be perceived by the speakers, he advanced, inch by inch, crawling 
like a serpent, stopping at intervals, employing all the precautions usual under 
such circumstances. At length he reached a clump of Peru trees only a few 
yards distant from the spot where the men he wished to overhear were stand- 
ing. He then got up, leaned against the largest tree, and prepared to listen. 
His expectations were not deceived ; though a few words escaped him here and 
there, he was near enough perfectly to catch the sense of the conference. 
This conversation was, in truth, most interesting to him ; a sinister smile lit 
up his face, and he eagerly clenched the barrel of his rifle. 

Presently the party broke into two. Valentine, Curumilla, and Unicorn, 
took the road leading to the open country, while Don Pablo and Father 
Seraphin returned toward the town. Valentine and his two friends almost 
touched the young man as they passed, and he instinctively carried his hand 
to his pistols; they even stopped for a moment and cast suspicious glances at 
the clump that concealed their foe. While conversing in whispers. Unicorn 
drew a few branches aside and peered in ; for some seconds Nathan felt an in- 
describable agony. Unicorn carelessly let the leafy curtain fall again, saying 
only one word to his comrades— 

“ Nothing.” 

The latter resumed their march. 

” I do not know why,” said Valentine, “but I fancy there is some one hidden 
there,” 

“ No,” the chief answered, “there is nobody.” 

So soon as he was alone, Nathan drew two or three deep breaths, and 
started in pursuit of Don Pablo and the missionary, whom he soon caught up 
As they did not suppose they were followed, they were conversing freely together 

Don Pablo and his companion walked quickly, like persons anxious to reach 
a place where they know they are expected, exchanging but a few words at 
intervals, whose meaning, however, caught up by the man who followed them, 
urged him still more not to let them out of sight. They thus traversed the 
greater part of the town, and on reaching the Calle dela Merced, they stopped 
at a house of handsome aspect. 

A weak light burned at the window of a ground-floor room. By an instinc- 
tive movement, the two gentlemen turned round at the moment of entering 


104 


The T I ail -Hunter. 


the house; but Nathan had slipped into a doorway, and they did not perceive 
him. Father Seraphin tapped gently; the door vvas at once opened, and they 
went in. 

“ Good ! the young man muttered ; “ but how to warn the old one that the 
dove is in her nest ? ” 

All at once, a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and Nathan turned, 
fiercely clutching a bowie-knife. A man was before him, gloomy, silent, and 
wrapped in the thick folds of his cloak. The American started. 

“ Go your way,” he said, in a menacing voice. 

“ What are you doing here ? ” the stranger asked. 

“ How does that concern you ? The street is free to all.” 

“ No.” 

This word was pronounced with a sharp accent. Nathan tried in vain to 
scan the features of the man with whom he had to deal. 

‘‘Give way,” he said, “or blood will surely be shed between us.’* 

As sole reply, the stranger took a pistol in his right hand, a knife in his 
left. 

“ Ah! ” Nathan said, mockingly, “you mean fighting.” 

“ For the last time, withdraw ! ” 

“ Nonsense, you are mad, senor caballero ; the road belongs to all, I tell 
you.” 

“ I wish to be alone here.” 

“You mean to kill me, then ?” 

“ If I must, yes, without hesitation.” 

The two speakers had exchanged these words in a low and hurried voice, in 
less time than wc have employed to write them. Nathan returned his pistol to 
his belt. 

“ No noise,” he said ; “ the knife will do ; besides, we are in a country where 
that is the only weapon in use.” 

“ Be it so,” the stranger replied ; “you will not give way to me ? Then your 
blood will be on your own head.” 

“ Or on yours.” 

The two foemen each fell back a pace, and stood on guard, with their cloaks 
rolled round their left arms. The moon, veiled by clouds, shed no light ; the 
darkness was perfect ; midnight struck from the cathedral; the voi<?e of the 
jerenos chanting the hour could be heard in the distance, announcing that all 
was quiet. Tnere was a moment’s hesitation, which the enemies employed in 
scrutinizing each other. Suddenly Nathan uttered a hoarse yell, rushed on his 
enerny, and threw his cloak in his face, to put him off his guard. The stranger 
parried the stroke dealt him, and replied by another, guarded off with equal 
dexterity. The two men then seized each other round the waist, and wrestled 
for some minutes, without uttering a word ; at length the stranger rolled on*the 
ground with a heavy sigh ; Nathan’s knife was buried in his chest. The 
American rose with a yell of triumph — his enemy was motionless. 

“Can I have killed him ?” Nathan muttered. 

All at once he started back, for he had recognised his brother Shaw. 

“ What is to be done now? ” he said ; but then added carelessly, “ Pshaw 1 
all the worse for him. Why did he come across my path ? ” * 

Shaw lay to all appearance dead, with pale and drawn cheeks, in the centre 
of the street. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


THE WOUNDED MAN. 

Nathan proceeded straight to the Rancho del Coyote, where his unexpected 
arrival was a blessing for Andres Garote, whom the old squatter was treating 
very roughly. On hearing his son’s words, Red Cedar let go, 

“ Well,” he asked, “ where is Dona Clara ? ” 

“Come with me, father,” the young man answered; “ I will lead you to 
her.” 

“ You know her hiding-place, then ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And so do I,” Fray Ambrosio shouted, as he rushed into the room with 
discomposed features ; “ I felt sure I should discover her.” 

Red Cedar looked at him with amazement. 

“ What has happened to her?” the squatter said presently. 

“ A very simple matter,” Fray Ambrosio answered, with an inimitably truth- 
ful accent ; “ about two hours back your son Shaw came here,” 

“ Shaw ! ” the squatter exclaimed. 

“ Yes, the youngest of your sons.” 

“ Go on.” 

“ Very good. He presented himself to us as coming from you to remove our 
prisoner. 

“ And what did you do ? ” the squatter asked. 

“ What could we do ?” 

“ Why, oppose the girl’s departure.” 

“ Cuspidal do you fancy we let her go so ? ” the monk asked, imperturbably. 

“ Come,” said the squatter, “how did all this finish ? ’’ 

“ Thanks to an ally who came to your son’s help, and to whom we were 
obliged to bow ” 

“ An ally ! What man can be so bold as to dare ” 

“ Eh ! ” the monk sharply interrupted Red Cedar, “ that man is a priest.** 

“ Y ou are jesting, senor padre,” the squatter exclaimed, savagely. 

“ Not the least in the world. I should have resisted ; but I belong to the Church ; 
and, as Father Seraphin is my superior, I was forced to obey him.” 

“ What ! ” the squatter said, with a groan, “ is he not dead ? ” 

“ It appears,” the monk remarked, ironically, “as if those you kill are all in a 
good state of health.” 

At this allusion to Don Pablo’s death, the squatter stifled a cry of anger, and 
clenched his fists. 

“ Good ! ’’ he said ; “ where is Dona Clara at this moment ? ” 

“ In a house no great distance from here,” Nathan answered. 

An ill-omened smile momentarily lit up the old bandit’s features. 

“ Good ! ” he said ; “ as the dove is in her nest, we shall be able to find her. 
What o’clock is it ? ” 

“ Three in the morning,” Andres interjected. “ Day will soon break.” 

“We must make haste, then. Follow me, all of you.” Then he added, “But 
what has become of Shaw ? Does any one of you know ? ” 

“ You will probably find him at the door of Dona Clara’s house,” Nathan said, 
in a hollow voice. 

“ How so ? Has my son entered into a compact with my enemies?” 


The Trail-Hunter. 


106 


“Yes; as he arrangred with them to carry off your prisoner.” 

“ On ! I will kill him if he prove a traitor ! ” the squ Uter shouted. 

Nathan fell back two steps, drew his knife from his boot, c»nd showed it to his 

father. , ,, 

“ That is done,” he said, harshly. “ Shaw tried to stab me, so I killed him. 

After these mournful words, there was a moment of silence in the lancho. All 
these men, though their hearts were steeled by crime, shuddered involuntarily.^ The 
squatter passed his hard hand over his dank brow. A sigh, like a howl, painfully 
forced its way from his oppressed chest. 

“ He was my last born.” he said, in a voice broken by emotion. “ He deserved 
death, but not to have received it at his brother’s hands.” 

“ Father ! ” Nathan muttered. 

“ Silence ! ” Red Cedar shouted, in a hollow voice, as he stamped his foot pas- 
sionately on the ground ; “ what is done cannot be undone ; but, woe to my enemy's 
family ! ” 

He approached a table, seized a bottle half full of mezeal that stood on it, and 
emptied it at a draught. Wnen he had finished ilrinking. he threw down the bottle 
which broke with a crash, and said to his mates, in a hollow voice — 

“ Let us be offl We have wasted too much time here already,” 

And he rushed out of the rancho, the others following close at his heels. 

In the meanwhile, Don Pablo and Father Seraphin were in the house. The 
priest had taken the maiden to the house of an honest family which owed him 
great obligations, and was too happy to receive the poor sufferer. Tne missionary 
did not intend, however, to let her be long a hurt en to these woithy people. At 
daybreak he intended to deliver her to certain relations of her father, who inhabited 
a hacienda a few leagues from Santa Fe. 

Dona Clara had been placed in a comfortable room by her hosts. Their first 
care had been to make her doff the Indian lobes forctners more suitable to her birth 
and position. The maiden, worn out by the poignant emotions of the scene she had 
witnessed, was on the point of retiring to bed, when Father Seraphin and Don 
Pablo tapped at the door of her room. She hastily opened it, and the si^ ht of her 
brother, whom she had not hoped to see so speedily, overwhelmed her with joy. 

An hour soon slipped away in pleasant chat. Don Pablo was careful not to teU 
his sister of the misfortune that had befallen their father ; for he did not wdsh to 
dull by that confession the joy the poor girl promised herself for thr morrow. Then, 
as the night was advancing, the two men withdrew, so as to allow her to enjoy that 
rest so needed to strengthen her for the long journey to the hacienda, promising to 
come and fetch her i 1 a few hours. Father Seraphin generously offered Don Pablo 
to pass the night with him by sharing the small lodging he had nc.t far from the 
Plaza de la Merced, and the young man eageily accepted. It was too late to seek a 
lodging at a locanda, and in this way he would be all the sooner with his sister next 
morning. After a lengthened leave-t king, they, therefore, left the house, and, so 
soon as they were gone, Dona Clara threw herself, ready dressed, into a hammock 
banging at one end of the room, when she speedily fell asleep. 

On reaching the street, Don Pablo saw a body lying motionless in front of the 
bouse. 

“ What’s this?” he asked, in surprise, 

“ A poor wretch whom the ladioncs killed in order to plunder him,” the mla- 
sionary answered. 

“That is possible.” 

“ Perhaps he is not quite dead, the missionary went on ; “it is our duty to suc- 
cour him,” 

” For what gootl ? ” Don Pablo said ; “ if a sereno were to pass he might accuse us.” 


Indian Diplomacy. 


107 


“Nay, sir,*’ the missionary observed, “ the ways of tlie Lord are impei^ctrable. It 
He allowed us to come across this unhappy man, it was because he judged in His 
wisdom that we might prove of use to him.” 

“ Be it so,” the young man said; “ let us look at him as you wish it. But you 
know that in this country good aaions generally entail annovauce.” 

** That is true, my son. Well, we will run the risk,” said the missionary, who 
had already bent over the wounded man. 

“ As you please,” Don Pablo said, as he followed him. 

“ Shaw, for it was he, gave no signs of life. The missionary examined him, then 
rose hastily, seized Don Pablo’s arm, and drew him to him, as he whispered — 

“ Look 1 ” 

“ Shaw ! ” the Mexican exclaimed in surprise; “ what could that man be doing 
here } ’* 

“ Help me, and we shall learn. The poor fellow has only fainted.” 

Don Pablo, greatly perplexed by this singular meeting, obeyed the missionary, 
without further remark. The two men raised the wounded lad, and carried him 
gently to Father Seraphin’s lodg.ng. 

They had scarce turned the corner of the street, when several men appeared at the 
other extremity. Tiiey were Red Cedar and his confederates. On arriving in front 
of the house they stopped. , 

“ Which is the girl’s room ? ” the squatter asked in a whisper. 

“This one,” Nathan said, as he pointed to it. 

Red Cedar crawled up to the house, drove his dagger into the wall, raised him- 
self to the window, and placed his face against a pane. 

“ All is well ! she sleeps ! ” he said, when he came down. “ You, Fray Ambrosio, 
to one corner of the street ; you, Garote, to the other.” 

The monk and the gambusino went to their allotted poslsv When Red Cedar 
was alone with his son he bent and whispered in his ear— » 

: ‘‘ What did you do with your brother after stabbing 

“ I left him on the spot where he fed.” 

“ Where was that ^ ” 

“ Just where we now stand.*’ 

Tfie squatter stooped down to the ground, and walked a few steps, carefully 
examining the bloody traces left on the pebbles. 

“He has been carried off,” he said, when he rose again, “ Perhaps he is not 
dead.” 

“ Perhaps so,” the young man observed, with a shake of his head. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

INDIAN DlPLOMACl* 

We will return, for the present, to Valentine and his comrades. 

The sudden apparition of the sachem of the Coras had produced a certain degree 
of emotion among the hunters and the Comanenes. Valentine, the first to recover 
from his surprise, addressed Eagie-win^j. 

“ My brotficr is welcome,” he said. “ What news does the chief bring us? ” 
Good,” the Coras answered laconically. 

“ All the better,” the hunter said gaily ; “ for some time past all wc have 
received has been so bad that my brother’s will create a diversion.” 


The Trail-Hunter. 


io8 


i 

“ My brother can fpeak,” Valentine continued ; “ he is surrounded by none bat 
friends.” 

“ I know it ” the chief answered, as he bowed gracefully to the company. ** Since 
I left my brother two months have passed away : I have worn out many mr»cassins 
amid the thorns and brambles of the desert : I have been beyond the Great Lakes to 
the villages of my nation.” 

” Good ; my brother is a chief; he was doubtless well received by the sachems of 
the Coras.” 

*' Mookapec is a renowned warrior among his people,” the Indian answered 
proudly; his place by the council-fire (f the nation is pointed out. 'Phe chiefs saw 
iiirn with joy: on his road he had taken the scaips of seven gachupinos. 

It was your right to do so chief, and 1 cannot blame you. The Spaniards have 
done ytju harm enough for you to requite them.” 

“ My brother speaks well ; his skin is whiie, but his heart is red.” 

Hum,” observed Valentine; I am a friend to justice ; vengeance is permissible 
against treachery.” 

The hunter’s comrades had drawn nearer, and now formed a circle round the two 
speakers. Curumiila was occu[)ied silently, as was his wont, in completely strip- 
ping each Spanish prisoner wtiom he then bound in such a way that the slightest 
movement was impossible. 

Valentine, although time pressed, knew too well the red-skin character to try and 
hurry Eagle-wing on. He felt certain that the chief had impoitant news to com- 
municate to him i but it wouUl have been no use trying to draw it from him j hence 
he allowed him to act as he pleased. 

’•Did mv brother lernain long with his tribe Valentine continued. 

‘‘Two suns. Eaglc-wing I ad left behind him friends to whom his heart drew 
him.” 

“ Thanks, chief, for the pleasant recollections of us.” 

‘‘The chief assembled in council to hear the words of Eagle-wing,” the Coras 
continued. ‘‘ They shuddered with fury on hearing of the massacre of tneir children ; 
and two hundred warriors are assembled beneath my toteiK.'^ 

Good ! ’’ said Va’cntine, ‘‘ the chief will avenge himself.” 

Tne Indian smiled. 

*‘ Yes,” he said, ” my young men have their orders.” 

” Very good ; in that case they are near here ? ” 

“No,” the chief replied, with a shake of his head. Eagle- wing does not march 
with them ; he has hidden himself under the skin of an Apache dog.” 

‘‘ What does my brother say ? ” Valentine a>ked. 

“ My white brother is quick,” Unicorn said, sententiously “ he will let Mookapec 
speak. He is a great sachem, and wisdom dwells in him. ’ 

” Answering one act of treachery by another : that is not the way in which the 
warriors of my nation behave,” Valentine said. 

“ I'he nation of my brother is great, and strong as the grizzly bear,” Unicorn 
.said ; “ it does not need to march along at hidden paths. 'Phe poor Indians are 
weak as the beaver, but like him they are very cunning.” 

“That is true,” Valentine replied, “cunning must be allowed you in dealing with 
tl'.e implacable enemies who surround you. I was vvrong ; so go on, chief ? ’’ 

“ my brother know ttiat the Gringo has asked the Apaches for a cuide ” 

“ No, I did not.” 

“ Good. Stanapat, the gieat chief of the Apaches, sent a Navajo6 warrior to act 
as guide to Red Cedar.” 

‘‘Well?” 

“'J'ne Nav^jog was scalped by Eaglp-wing.” 


Indian Diplomacy. 




109 


“ Ah, ah ! then Red Cedar cannot set out ? ’* 

“ Yes, he can do so when he likes.” 

“ How* so ? ” 

” Because Ea "le-wing takes the place of the guide.” 

Unicorn smiled. 

” My brother has a deal of wisdom/’ he said. 

” Hum ! ” Valentine remarked, it is possible, but you play for a heavy stake 
chief. That old villain wiU recognise you.” 

” No.” 

I hope not ; for if he does, you are a lost man.” 

” Good, my brother can be easy. Eagle-wing isa waTri''r ; he will see the white 
hunter again.” 

” I wish so, chief ; but I doubt. However, act as you please. When will you 
join Red Cedar ?’ ’ 

” This night.” 

” Y ou are going to leave us ? ” 

At once. Eagle-wing has nothing more to confide to his brother.” 

Atid after bowing courteously to the company, the Coras chief glided into the 
rhicket, in which he disappeared almost instantaneously. 

Y es,” said Valentine, with a thoughtful air, ” his project is a daring one, such 
as might be expected from so great a warrior. May heaven protect him, and allow 
him to succeed '. “ The clothes ? ” he asked of Curumilla. 

” Here they are,” the Aucas answered, pointing to an enormous heap of clothing. 

“ What does my br ther mean to do with them ? ’’ Unicorn asked. 

** My brother will see,” Valentine said, with a smile, each of us is going to put 
on one of these uniforms.” 

The Comanche drew himself up haughtily. 

” No,” he said, “ Unicorn does not put off the dress of his people.” 

“ In order to enter the camp of the Spaniards without being discovered.” 

** Wah ! for what good? Unicorn will summon his young men to cut a passage 
through the corpses of the gachupinos.” 

But Valentine shook his head mournfully. 

“ It is true,” he remarked, ‘‘ we could do so. But why shed blood needlessly ? ” 

‘‘The hunter will act rightly. Unicorn knows it, and he leaves him free; but 
Unicorn is a chief ; he cannot put on tae clothes of the pale-faces.” 

‘‘ Valentine no longer insisted, as it would have been unavailing ; so he agreed to 
modify his plan. 

” Then the chief will remain here,” he said, ‘‘ to guard the prisoners.” 

” Good,” the Comanche answered. ‘‘ Is Unicorn then a chattering old woman, 
that warriors place him on one side ? ” 

•• My brother does not understand me. I do not wish to insult him, but he 
cannot enter the camp with us.'*’ 

The chief shrugged his shoulders disdainfulh’. 

” The Comanche warriors can crawl as well as serpents. Unicorn will enter.” 

” Let my brother come, then, since he wishes it.” 

‘‘ Good, my i roLher is vexed ; a cloud has passed over his face ; he is wrong ; his 
friend loves him.’’ 

“ 1 know It, chief, 1 know it. I am not vexed, but my heart is sad to see a 
warrior thus tun the risk of being killed without any necessity.” 

” Unicom is a sachem ; he must give an example to his young men on the war- 
path.’’ 

” Here arc the horses of the pale-taccs,” Curumilla sai l; “ my brother will need 
them.” 


The Trail- Hunter. 


tiid 


**That is true,** the hunter answered, with a smile ; “ my brother is a great chief, 
he thinks of everyth ng.” 

“ Caballero, ’ Valentine said to the Alfcrez, " you will act as our guide to the 
camp. We do not wish to take the lives of your countrymen ; our intention is 
simply to prevent them following us at present. Fay attention to my words ; if you 
attempt to deceive us, 1 blow out your brains. You arc warned.” 

The Spaniard bowed, but made no reply. When they came a short distance from 
the bivouac, a icnuy challenged, “ Who goes there ? ' 

Answer,” Valentine wnispered the Allerez. 

He did so. They passed, and the sentry, suddenly seized by Curumiha, was 
bound and gagged in the twinkling of an eye, all the other sentinels sharing the 
same fate. The regiment of dragoons had been surprised without striking a blow. 

Valentine’s comrades dismounted; they knew exactly how to act, and did not 
deviate from the instructions given by their leader. Tiiey proceeded from picquet 
to picquet, removing the horses, which weie led out of camp. Within twenty 
minutes all had been carried off. Valentine had anxiously followed the movements 
of his men. When they had finished, he rai'^ed the curtain of the colonel’s tent, and 
found himself face to face with Unicorn, from whose waist-belt hung a reeking scalp. 
Valentine could not leptcss a movement of honor. 

“ What have you done, chief ? ’’ he asked. 

Unicorn has killed his enemy,” the Comanche replied, peiemptoi ily. ” When 
the leader of the antelopes is killed, his flock disperses.” 

Valentine drew near the co'one'. The unhappy man, fearfully mutilated, with his 
brain laid oare, and hishe^rt pierced by the knife of the implacable Indian, lay stark 
dead in a pool of bloud, in me middle of the tent. '1 he hunter vented a sigh at this 
Sony sigfit, 

“ Poor devil 1 ” he said, with an air of compassion. 

After this short funcial oration, he took away his sabre and epaulettes^ left the 
tent, followed by the Indian chief and rejoined his comrades. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE STRANGER. 

Father Seraphin and Don Pablo we left bearing the wounded man to the 
missionary’s lodging. Although the house to which they were proceeding was but 
a short distance off, yet the two gentlemen, compelled to take every precaution, 
employed consideiable time on the journey. Nearly every step they were compelled 
to halt, so as not to fatigue too greatly the wounded man, whose inert limbs swayed 
in every direction. 

” The man is dead,” Don Pablo remarked, during a halt they made on the Plaza 
de la Merced. 

‘‘I fear so,” the missionary answered, sadly; ” still, as we are not certain of it, oui 
conscience bids us to bestow our care on him.” 

” Father, the love of one’s neighbour often carries you too far ; better were i 
perhaps, if this wretch did net c<.>me back to life.” 

“You are severe, my friend. This man is still young — almost a boy. Wh» 
knows whether this fearful wound may not ofi'er him the means to enter the society 
of honest people, which he has till now been ignorant of? ” 

“ 1 will do what you wisfi, father. Still, 1 fear tliat all our care will be thrown 
away,** 


The Stranger, 


IT.Z 


“God, whose humble instruments we are, will prove you wrong, I hope. Come, 
a little courage ; a few paces further, and we shall have arrived.” 

“Come on, then,” Don Pablo said, with resignation. 

Father Seraphm lo ged at a house of modest appearance, built of adobes and 
reeds, in a small room he hired from a poor widow, for the small sum of nine reals 
a month. This room, very small, and which only received air from a window 
opening on an inner yard, was a perfect conventual cell, as far as furniture was 
concerned, for the latter consis:ed of a wooden frame, over which a ball-hide was 
stretched, and served as the missionary’s bed ; a butacca and a prie-dieu, above 
which a copper crucifix was fastened to the whitewashed wall. But, like all cells, 
this room was marvellously clean. From a few nails hung the w'ell worn clothes 
of the poor priest, and a shelf supported vials and flasks which doubtless contained 
medicaments; for, like all the tnissionaries, Father Seraphin had a rudimentary 
knowledge of medicine, and took in charge both the souls and bodies of his 
neophytes. 

The father lit a candle of yellow tallow standing in an iron candlestick, and, aided 
by Don Pablo, laid the wounded man on his own bed ; after which the young man 
fell back into the butacca to regain his bieath. Father Seraphin, on whom, spite of 
his fragile appearance, the fatigue had produced no apparent effect, then went dowm 
stairs to lock the street-door, which he had left open. As he pushed it to, he felt an 
opposition outside, and a man soon entered the yard. 

“ Pardon, my reverend father,” the stranger said ; “but be kmd r trough not to 
l^ave me outside,” 

“ Do you live in this house ? ” 

“No,” the stranger coolly replied, “ I do not live in Santa F6, where 1 am quite 
unknown.” 

“ Do you ask hospitality of me, then ? ” 

“Not at all, reverend father.” 

“ 'I'hcn what do you want ? ” the missionary said. 

“ I wish to follow you to the room where you have laid the wounded man.” 

“This request, sir ’’ the priest said, hesitating. 

“ Has nothing that need surprise you. I have the greatest interest in seeing with 
my own eyes in what state that man is.” 

“ Are you a relation or friend of his t ” 

“ Neither one nor the other. Still, I repeat to you, very weighty reasons compel 
me to see him and speak with him, if that be possible.” 

Father Seraphin took a searching glance at the speaker. He was a man of great 
height, apparently in the fullest vigour of lie. His features, so far as it was 
nossible to distinguish them by the pale and tremulous moonbeams, were 
landsome, though an expressi m of unbending will was the marked thing about 
hem. He wore the dress of rich Mex can haciendcros, and had in his right hand a 
magnificently inlaid American rifle. Still the missionary hesitated. 

“ Well,” the stranger continued, “ have you made up your mind, father ” 

“Sir,” Father Seraphin answered with firmness, “do not take in ill pait what 1 
im going to say to you.” 

Tne stranger bowed. 

“ You insist, with strange tenne’ty, on seeing the poor man whom Christian 
charity compelled me to pick up. Prudence demands that I snould refuse to let you 
see fiim.” 

A certain annoyance was depicted on the stranger’s features. 

“ You are right, father,” he answered ; “ appearances are against me. 
Unfortunately, (he explanation you demand from me justly would make us lose too 
much precious time, hence I cannot give them to you at this moment. All 1 can do 


tJ2 


Tht Tt oil -Hunter. 


is to swear, in the face of heaven, on that crucifix you wear round your neck, and 
which is the symbol of our redemption, that 1 only wish well to the man you 
have housed, and that I am this moment seeking to punish a great criminal.” 

The missionary felt convinced ; he took up the crucifix and offered it to this 
extraordinary man. 

“ 1 swear it,” he replied in a firm voice. 

“Good,” the priest went on, “now you can enter, sir; I will not even ask your 
name. Follow me, sir.” 

“ My name would teach you nothing, father,” the stranger said sadly. 

'I he missionary locked the door and led the stian^ier to his room, on entering 
which the new-comer took off his hat reverently, took up a post in a corner of the 
room, and did not stir. 

“ Do not trouble yourself about me, father,” he said in a whisper, “ and put 
implicit faith in the oath I took. ’ 

The missionary only replied by a nod, and the wounded man gave no sign of 
life, but still lay much in the position he was first placed in. For a long time, how- 
ever, the attention he lavished on him proved sterile, and seemed to produce no effect 
on the squatter’s son. At this moment the stranger walked up to liim. 

“ My father,” he said, touching him gently on tlie arm, ** you have done all that 
was humanly possiole, but have not succeeded. Will you permit me to try in my 
turn ? ” 

“ Do you fancy you will prove more successful than I ? ” the priest asked in 
surprise. “ You see I have tried everything that the medical art prescribes in such 
a case.” 

“ Tnat is true, father ; but the Indians possess certain secrets known only to 
themselves. Some of them have been revealed to me ; if you w 11 permit me, 1 will 
try their effects on this young man, who is in a desperate condition.” 

“ 1 fear he is, poor fellow.” 

“We shall, therefore, run no risk in trying my superior remedy upon him.” 

“ Certainly not.” 

The stranger bent over the young man, and regarded him for a moment with 
fixed attention • then he drew from his pocket a flask of carved crystal, filled with a 
fluid as green as emerald. With the point of his dagger he slightly opened the 
wounded man’s closed teeth, and poured into his mouth four or five drops of the 
fluid contained in the flask. The stranger returned to his dark corner. Suddenly 
the young man passed his hand over his dank forehead, and muttered in a hollow 
voice — 

“ Ellen, my sister, it is too late. 1 cannot save her. See, see, they are carrying 
hei’ oft } she is lost ! ” 

And he fell back on the bed, as the three men rushed towards him. 

“ He sleeps ! ” the missionary said in amazement. 

“ He is saved ! ” the stranger answered. 

“ What did. he want to say, though ” Don Pablo inquired anxiously. 

“ That lad wished to deliver your sister.” 

“ Heavens ! ” cried Pablo. 

“ He was stabbed at the door of the house where she sought shelter. Those who 
stabbed him wished to get him out of tne way, in order to carry her off a second 
time.” 

“ Ah 1” Don Pablo exclaimed in despair, “my father — let us fly to mv sister’s 
aid 1 ” 

The two gentlemen rushed from the house with a presentiment of misfortune. 
When the stranger found liimself alone with the wounded man, he walked up to 
him, wrapped him in his cloak, tnrew him over his shoulders as easy as if he were 


General Ventura, 


1 


only a child, and went out in his turn. On reaching the street, he carefully closed 
the door, and went off at a great rate, si>on disappearing in the darkness. At the 
same instant the melancholy voice of the screno could be heard chanting — 

''Ave Maria purissima “Los cuatro hari dado / *’ “Fjua Mexico ! '* “ Todo es 

quieto ! ” “ Hail, most pure Mary ! ” “ It has struck four 1 ” “ Long live Mexico 1 ” 
“All is quiet.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

OENBRAL VENTURA, 

It was about six in the morning. A dazzling sun poured down its transparent 
iays on the streets of the Presidio of Santa Fe', which was already full of noise and 
movement at that early hour of the morning. General Ventura slept that pleasant 
morning sleep, in which the body, entirely rested from its fatigue, leaves the mind 
rhe entire liberty of its faculties. Suddenly the door of the sleej»ing-room in which 
the worthy governor reposed was torn violently open, and an officer entered. General 
'' Ventura, aroused with a start, sat up in his bed, fixing on the importunate visitor a 
glance, at first stern, but which at once became uneasy on seeing the alarm depicted 
on the officer’s features. 

“ What is the matter, Senor Captain Don Lopez? ’’ he asked, trying in vain to give 
firmness to his voice. 

Captain Lopez was a soldier of fortune, who had grown gray in harness, and con- 
tracted a species of rough frankness, that prevented him toning the truth down under 
any circumstances, which fact made him appear, in the general’s eyes, a bird of very 
evil omen. To the general’s query the captain only replied the following three storm- 
laden words — 

“ Nothing that’s good.” 

“ What do you mean ? Have the people rebelled ? ’’ 

“ On my word, no 1 I do not fancy they even dream of such a thing.” 

** Very well, then,” the general went on, “ what the deuce have you to tell me 
captain ? ” 

“ 1 have not come to tell you anything,’’ the other said roughly. “There is a 
soldier outside who has just come from I don’t know where, and who insists on 
speaking with you. Shall I bring him, or send him about his business ? ” 

“ One moment,” exclaimed the general, whose features had suddenly become 
gloomy ; “ who is the soldier ? ” 

“ A dragoon, I fancy.” 

“ A dragoon ! let him come in at once. May Heaven bless you, with all your 
circumlocution ! The man, doubtless, brings me news of the arrival of the regiment 
I am expecting.” 

The captain shrugged his shoulders with an air of doubt. 

“ What is it now ? ” the general said, “ what are you going to say.” 

“ Nothing, except that the soldier looks very sad tube the bearer of such good 
news.” 

“ We shall soon know what we have to depend on. Let him come in.’’ 

“ That is true,” said the captain, as he went off. 

During this conversation the general had leaped from his bed, and dressed himself 
with the promptness peculiar to soldiers. He now anxiously awaited the appearance 
of the trooper who Don Lopez had announced to him. 

A few minutes were thus passed in febrile restlessness. All at once a great noise 
was heard in the Plaza Mayor. The general went to a window' and looked out, A 
tumultuous and dense crowd was thronging every street leading to the square, and 


1/4 


The Trail- Hunter ^ 


uttering sharp cries. This crowd momentarily increasing, seemed urged on hy 
something terrible. 

“ Wiiat is this ?” the general exclaimed; “and what can be the meaning of this 
disturbance ? “ 

At this moment the shouts grew louder, and the detachment of Comanche war- 
riors appeared debouching by the Calle dc la Merced, and marching in good order, 
and at quick step upon the palace. 

“ The Indians again I ” he said ; “ how can they dare to present themselves here ? 
They must be ignorant of the arrival of the dragoons. Such boldness is incom- 
prehensible.” 

He let the curtain fall, and turned away. The soldier whom the captain had an- 
nounced stood before him, waiting the general’s pleasure to qucsiion iiim. Tne 
general started on perceiving him. He was pale; his U4iif>rm was torn a”d 
stained with mud, as if he had made a long journey on foot through brambles. As 
he was opening his mouth to ask the man a question, the door flew back, and 
several officers, among whom was Captain Don Lopez, entered the room. 

“ General,’’ the captain said, “ make haste! You are expected in the council hall. 
The Indians have come.’’ 

“Well! why this startled look, gentlemen ?” the general said severely. “lam 
not at the orders of those savages, so tell them that I have no time to giant them an 
audience.’’ 

The officers gazed at the general with a surprise they did not attempt to conceal, 
on hearing these strange and incomprehensible words. 

“ Good, good,” Captain Lopez said, “ the town is not yet fired, ’tis true ; but it 
might be so.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” the general asked, as he turned pale. “ Are matters so 
serious ? ’’ 

“ They are most serious. We have not a moment to lose, if we wish to avoid 
heavy disasters.” 

“ Gentlemen, said the General, in an ill-assured voice, “it is our duty to watch 
over the safety of the population. I follow you.” 

And taking no further heed of the soldier, he proceeded towards the counc l-hall. 

The disorder that had prevailed without had at length gained the interior or the 
palace. Nothing; was to be heard but shrieks or exclamations of anger and terror. 
The Mexican officers assembled in the hall were tumultuously discussing the mea- 
sures to be adopted in order to save a contest and the town. The entrance of the 
governor produced a healthy effect upon them, in so far that the discussion suddenly 
ceased, and calmness was restored. 

General Ventura regretted in his heart having counted on imaginary help, and not 
having listened to the sensible advice of some of his officers, who urged him the pre- 
vious day to satisfy the Indians by giving them what they asked. In spite of the 
terror he felt, however, his pride revolted at being compelled to treat on equal terms 
with barbarians, and accept harsh conditions which they would doubtless impose on 
him, in tlie consciousness of having the upper hand. 

The governor, in entering tlie hall, looked round the assembly anx’ously. All 
had taken their places, and, externally, at least, had assumed that grace and stern 
appearance belonging to men who are penetrated wit'* the grandeur of the duties 
they have to perform, and are resolved to carry them out at all hazards. But this 
appearance was very deceptive. All these men, habituated to a slothful and effe- 
minate life, did not feel capable of waging a contest with the rude enemies who 
menaced them so audaciously. 

Under present circumstances, however, resistance was impossible. The Indians 
were tnasteis of the town. There weie no troops to oppose to them ; hence the only 


The Comanches, 




hope was to make the easiest terms possible with the Comanches. When every one 
)jad ?iven his opinion the governor rose, and said in a trembling voice — 

“ Caballeros. All of us here present are men of courage, and have displayed that 
qua'ity in many difficult circumstances. Certainly, if the only tiling was to saciifice our 
lives to save the hapless townsmen, we would not hesitate to do so, for we are too 
weii imb .ed with the soundness of our duties to hesitate ; but, unhappily, that sacri- 
fice woulc not avail to save those whom we wish before alt to protect. Let us treat, 
then with the barbarians, as we cannot conquer them. Perhaps in this way we shall 
succeed in protecting our wives and childreii fiom the danger that menaces them. In 
acting thus under the grave circumstances in which wc find ourselves, we shall at 
least have the consolation of having done our duty, even if we do not obtain all we 
desire.’’ 


CHAPTER XXXVII, 

THE COMANCHES. 

Valentine and his friends awoke at daybreak. The Comanches were already pre- 
pared to start ; and Unicorn, dressed in his great war costume, presented himself to 
the hunter. 

“ Is my brother going } ” Valentine asked him. 

“ Yes,’ the sachem answered. “ I am returning to the Presidio, to receive the 
answ' r,” 

“ What is mv brother’s intention, should his demand be rejected? ” 

Unicorn sm*-d. 

“ The Comanches have long lances,” he said. 

“My anxiety will be extreme till you return, chief ; the Spaniards are perfidious.” 

“Tiiey would not dare,” Unicorn said haughtily. ” If the chief, whom my brother 
loves, is not delivered to me safe and sound, the Spanish prisoners shall be tortured 
on the plaza of Santa Fe, the town burned and sacked.” 

“ Good ! Unicorn is a wise chief ; he will do what is necessary.” 

In the meantime the Comanche warriors had formed their ranks, and only awaited 
the signal of the sachem to start. The Spanish prisoners taken during the night 
were placed in the centre, bound and half naked. Suddenly a disturbance was 
heard in the c imp, and two men rushed panting toward the spot where stood Valen- 
tine, the sachem, and Cutumilla. They were Don Pablo and Father Seraphin, their 
clothes in disorder, their features haggard, and theii faces glistening witii perspira- 
tion. On reacning their friends, they fell, almost in a fainting state, on the ground. 
The pioper attentions were at once paid them, and the missionary was the first to 
recover. Don Pablo seemed stupefied; the tears poured incessantly down hi* cheeks, 
and he could not utter a word. Valentine feit strangely alarmed. 

“ Good heavens! ” he exclaimed, ‘ what has happened ? Don Miguel ? ” 

“No,” he said, “ nothing has happened to him, as far as I know.” 

“ Heaven be praised I But what is the matter, father ? Wliat misfortune have you to 
announce to me? ” 

“ A f ightful one, indeed, my son,” the missionary replied; “ Dona Clara— — ” 

“ Well ! ” the hunter said sharply. 

“ Was captured again last night by Red Cedar, and torn from the refuge where 
. placed her.’’ 

“ Oh ! ” Valentine exclaimed, with concentrated fury, as he stamped his foot, 
•‘always that demon — that accu sed Red Cedar. My curses on him I But take 
courage, father; let us first save Don Miguel.” 


The Trail-Hunter. 


ii6 


Unicorn advanced. 

“ Master of prayer,” Vc said to Father Scraphin, in a soft and impressive voice, 
*‘ycur heart is good. The Comanches love you. Unicorn will hc'p you. Pi ay to 
vour God, He will protect us in our researches.” 

Then the chief turned to Don Pablo, and laid his hand firmly on his shoulder. 

“ Women weep,” he said ; ” men avenge themselves. Has not my brother his rifle?” 

On feeling the Comanche’s hand laid on him — on hearing these words— the young 
man quivered as if he had received an electric shock. He drew himself up, and fixed 
on the chief his eyes burning with the fever of sorrow. 

“Yes,” he said, in a broken voice, ” you are right, chief,” and passing his hand 
over his eyes with a gesture of rage, ” let us leave tears to women, who have no 
other weapons to piotect their weakness. I am a man, and will avenge myself. 

*' Good 1 My brother speak»i well ; he is a warrior ; Unicorn esteoms him ; he will 
become great on the war path.” 

Don Pablo, crushed for a moment, had regained all his energy ; he was no 
longer the same man ; he looked around him, 

“ Where are you going ? ” he asked. 

“ do Santa Fe, to deliver your father.” 

“ I will go with you.” 

“ Come,” said Unicorn. 

“No,” Valentine interposed authoritatively. ” Your place is not there, Don Pablo ; 
leave the Comanehe warriors to act as they please ; they do not need your help to 
carry out their plans properly. Remain with me.” 

“Command me, my fiiend,” the young man said, “I have perfect confidence in 
your experience.” 

” Good. You are reasonable. Brother,” he added, turning to the chief, ” you 
can start. The sun is already high in the horizon.” 

Unicorn gave the signal for departure. The Comanches uttered their war-yell, 
while brandishing their arms, and started at a quick amble, the only pace they know. 
Curumilla then rose, and wiapped himself in his buffalo robe; Valentine watching 
him inquiringly. 

” Where is my brother going ? ” 

” To look for the camp of Red Cedar’s gambusinos,” the Indian replied with a 
cunning smile. 

“ Good,” Valentine said, gleefully. ” My brother is a wise chief ; he forgets 
nothing.” 

” Curumil'a loves his bro|her ; he thinks for him,” the chief answered, simply. 

After uttering these words, the Unicorn bowed gracefully, and proceeded in the 
direction of the Paso del Norte, soon disappearing in the windings cf the road. 
V^alentine looked after him for a long while. When he no longer saw him, he let 
his head f^t pensively on his chest. 

At length V^^lentine raised his head, passed his hand over his brow, as if to dispel 
these sad thoughts, and turned to his friends. 

” Pardon me,” he said, ‘‘ but I, at times, give way to my thoughts in that 
fashion. Alasl I, too, have suffered; but let us leave that,” he added gaily, 
” Bygones must be bygones. Let us attend to your affairs.” 

He made tliem a sign to sit down by his side on the grass, rummaged his alforjas 
and produced some slight food, w iich he laid before them. 

“ Eat,” he said to the n; “ we de not know what awaits us within the next few 
hours, and we must reciu t our strength. Wnen you have sat sfied your appetite, 
you will tell me all about Dona Clara being carried off again, for 1 must have the 
fullest details.” 

Wc v/ill leave the three now conver>ing, and join the Comanches and Unicorn again* 


CHAPTER XXXVIIT, 


NEGOTIATIONS. 

Whrv Unicorn entered the council-chamber, preceded by Captain I.opez, and 
followed oy the three Indian chiefs, the de.pest silence prevailed among the Spanish 
officers assembled to meet him. 1'he governor, seated in a chair placed in the 
centre of the hall, was looking nervously round him, while tapping on the arm rf 
the chair with the finoers ot his rii^lit hand. Still, his countenance was tolerably 
composed. He answered by a nod the ceremonious bow ot the Conianches, and 
drew himself up as if intending to address them ; but if such were his desire. Unicorn 
did not grant him time to do so. 

“ I salute my father I ” he sai l, in a lOud and fierce voice. “ I have come, as was 
agreed on yesterday, to fetch the answer he owes me.” 

I'he general hesitated for an instant. 

“ I am waiting ! ” the Inuian wen on. 

The general, fo ced almost into hi-, last entrenchment, saw that the hour for 
surrender had at length arrived, and that no way of escape was left him, 

“ Chiel,” he answered, in anything but a firm voice, “ your behaviour naturally 
sui prises me. To my knowledge the Spaniards are not at war with your nation ; 
the whites have not done anything of which you have a right to complain. For 
what reason do you c >me, then, against the sworn faith, and when nothing 
authorizes you, to invade a defenceless town ? ” 

The sachem understood that the Spaniard was trying to shift the question on to 
other ground. 

“ My father does not answer my request,” he said. Still, in order to have finished 
at once with the reciiminations he brings up, I will answer his questions 
peremptorily, separating them one from tl.e other. In the fiist place, my father 
knows \ery well that the pale-faces and red-skins have been in a constant state of 
warfare since the arrival of white men in Ameiica. This war may have slightly 
relaxed at intervals, but has never really ceased. Secondly, my father said tliat 
nothing has been done of which we had a right to complain. My father is mistaken, 
W’e have a cause, the imprisonment of Don Miguel Zarate, who, himself an Indian, 
has never belied his oiigin. Hence, my father must no longer ask by what right I 
am heie, for that is perfectly established. Now that fact is cleared up, let us pass 
to another. When I came I ere, yesterday, my father gave me to understand 
ttiat my propositions would be accepted, and the exchange of prisoners carried 
out.” 

“It is possible, chief ” the general replied ; “ but no one knows to-day what he 
will do to-morrow. With night reflection has come, and, in short, your proposifions 
have appeared to me unacceptable.” 

“ Wah! ” the Indian said, though not testifying his surprise otherwise. 

“ Yes,” the general continued, growing animated, “ I should be asnamed to grant 
them, for I should have tlie appearance of only yielding to threats. No, ft cannot be. 
The two gentlemen you claim are guilty, and shall die.” 

The Mexican officers warmly applauded this haughty response, which they were 
far from expecting. 1 hey felt their courage rekindled, and did not despair ot 
obtaining bet.ei condit uns. A smile of disdain played round the chief's haughty 
lips. 

“ Good,” he sai 1 ; “my father speaks very loudly. The coyotes arc bold when 
they hunt the buflalo in packs. He wishes for war, then.^ ” 


ii8 


The TraU‘H.int.>r. 


**No,’* the general quickly interposed. “Heaven forbid 1 I should be glad to 
settle this matter amicably with you, chief, but nonour forbids me subscribing thpse 

disgraceful proposals.” . 

‘ Ts it really honour that has dictated my father’s answer? ’ tne Indian asked 
ironica ly. “ He will permit me to doubt it. In short, whatever be tuc reason that 
guides him, I can but withdraw; but, before doing so, I w.U give him news of a 
friend, whom he doubtless expects.” 

“ What means that wotil doubtless ? ” 

“This,” the Indian said s arply. “The warriors whom my father expected to 
arrive to his aid this day have been dispersed by my young men, as the autumn 
breeze sweeps away the leaves. They will not come.” 

A murmur of terror ran through the assembly. The sachem let the long folds of 
his buffalo robe fall back, tore from his girdle the bleeding scalp that hung there, and 
threw it at the general’s feet. 

“That,” he said gloomily, “ is the scalp of the man who commanded my father’s 
warriors ! Does the chief of the pale-faces recognise it ? ” 

A shudder of terror ran round the room at the sight of the scalp ; the general felt 
the small dose of courage that had still animated him oozing out. 

“ Chief,” he exclaimed in a trembling voice, “ is it possible you have done that? ” 

“ I have done it,” the sachem answered coldly. “ Now farewell. 1 am about to 
join my young men, who are impatient at my long absence.” 

With these words the Comanche haughtily turned his back on the governor, and 
walked toward the door. 

“ A few moments longer, chief,” the general said. 

I'he Comanche gave the speaker a glance which made him quiver. 

“ Here is my last word,” he said, “ I insist on the two prisjiiers being handed 
over to me.” 

“ They shall I e.” 

Good ; but no perfidy, no treacherv ! ” 

“ We will act honourably,” the general replied. 

We shall see. My warriors and myself will remain on the square till my 
father has performed his promise. If, within an hour, the pale-faces arc not free, the 
prisoners I hold will be piiilessly massacred.” 

The pride of the Mexicans was quelled, and they at length recognised that nothing 
couUl save them from ttie vengeance of the Comanche chief. Tne general bowetl in 
assent, not having the strength to answer otnerwise. Tne sight of the scalp had 
paralysed in him all desire to contend longer. 

When the Indians left the council-chamber, the Mex’cans rose tumultuously, for 
each feared the execution of the chief’s threats. General Ventura was pressed on all 
sides to make haste, and run no risk of breaking his word. 

“ Caballeros,” he said, “ you have heard this man. You understand as well as I 
did the menaces he dared to offer us. Shall sui h an insult be left unpunished ? 
Will you allow yourselves to be thus braved in the heart of the town by a iian Itul of 
scoundrels, and not attempt to inflict on them the chastisement they deserve ? To 
arms, Caballeros and let us die bravely, if it must be so, sooner than suffer this stain 
on the old Spanish honour our father-, transmitted to* us! ” 

This warm address produced the effect the general anticipated from it ; that is to 
say, it redoubled, were that possible, the terror of the hearers, who had long been 
acquainted with their chief’s cowardice, and knew how little tie could be depended on. 
This sudden wailike order seemed to them so unusual, and before all so inopportune, 
that they pressed him to accept, witliout delay, the proposals dictated by eh« 
8&.chem. This was all the governor wanted. 

“As you insist,” he said, “ and nothing can induce you to offer an 


Free. 


1 19 


resistance, I will myself proceed to the prir.on. in order to avci'^ any misunderstanding, 
and have the doors open for Don Mio^uel Zarate and G.ViCrai Ibanez.” 

“ Make haste, pray I ” the officers answeied. 

The general, glad in his heart at having got out of the scrape so well, left the 
Cabildo, and walked across the square to the prison, which stood on the opposite 
side. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

FREE. 

Don Miguel and General Ibanez were completely ignorant of what was going on 
outside, and the rumours of the town did not reach their cars. Had they deigned to 
question their jailer, the latter who was beginning to fear for himself the effect of the 
ill-tieatment he had made the two gentlemen undergo, would doubtless have not 
hesitated to give them all possible information, for the sake of regaining their favour ; 
but each time this man presented himself before them, and < pened his mouth to speak, 
they turned their backs contemptuously. 

On this day, according to their wont, the two prisoners had risen at sunrise, and 
then, with incredible coolness, began conversing on indifferent topics. Suddenly a 
great noise was heard in the prison, a clang of arms reached the prisoners’ ears, and 
hurried footsteps approached the rooiua in which they were confined. They 
listened. 

“ Oh, oh ! ” said Ibanez. “ I fancy it is for to-day at last.” 

” Heaven be praised! ” Don Miguel answered. ” I am glad." 

“On my honour and so am I,” the general said gaily; “ time was beginning to 
hang heavy in this prison, where a man has not the slightest relaxation. We are 
going to see that splendid sun, which seems afraid to show itself in this den.” 

Still the noise grew nearer and nearer, and confused voices were mingling with 
the echoing steps in the passage, and the rattling of sabres. 

“ Here they are,” said Don Miguel; “ we shall sec them in a minute." 

“ They are welcome if they bring us death, that supreme solace of the afflicted.” 

At this moment a key creaked in the lock, and the door opened. The two prisoners 
fell back in surprise on seeing the general, who rushed into the cell, followed by two 
or three officers. Assuredly, if the prisoners expected to sec anybody, it was not the 
worthy General Ventura. Ibanez could not refrain from exclaiming, with that accent 
of caustic gaiety which formed the basis of his character — 

“What the deuce do you want here, senor governor.' Have you, too, suddenly 
become a frightful conspirator, such as we are accused of being? ” 

before answering, the general fell back into a chair, wiping away the perspiration 
that trickled down his forehead, such speed had he displayed in corning to the 
prison. 

Have you by any chance, my dear governor,” General Ibanez said, gaily, 
though not believing a word of it, “come to ostore us to liberty? That would be a 
most gallant action, and I should feel deeply indebted to you for it.” 

General Ventura raised his head, fixed on the prisoners eyes sparkling with joy, 
and said, in a panting voice — 

“Yes, mv frie ids, yes; I would come myself to tell you that you are free; £ 
Would not yield to any one else the ple.asure of announcing the good news.” 

The prisoners fell back in amazement, 

“ What ! ” General Ibanez exclaimed, “ arc you speaking seriously?” 


120 


The Trail-Hunter, 


** Come, come,” General Ventura cried, “ this hole is frightful ; do not remain 
any longer in it.” 

“Ah!” Don Miguel remarked, bitterly, “ you find it frightful; you have been 
a long time in discovering the fact; for we have lived in it nearly a month.” 

“ Do not be angry with me, Don Miguel,” the governor answered eagerly, “it 
was greatly against my will you were detained so long. Come away ; do not 
remain a moment longer in this pestilential den.” 

“ Pardon me, Caballero,” Don Miguel said coldly, “but, with your permission, 
we will remain a few moments longer in it.” 

“ Way so? ” General Ventura asked, opening his eyes to their fullest eztent. 

“ I will tell you.” ' 

Don Miguel pointed to a chair, and sat down himself. General Ibanez followed 
his example. 

“ I am waiting your pleasure to explain yourself,” the governor at last said, as he 
was anxious to get away, and time pressed. 

“ I am about doing so,” Don Miguel answered ; “ you have come to tell us we 
are free, sir ; but you do not say on what conditions.” 

“ What do you mean by conditions ? ” the general asked, not understanding him. 

“Of course,” Ibanez went on, supporting his friend; “and these conditions, too, 
must suit us ; you must sec, my dear sir, we cannot leave this deliglitful place 
without knowing the why or wherefore. F’iua Crisio f we are not vagabonds to be 
got rid of in that way.” 

“ The general is right, sir,” the haciendero said in his turn ; “ the care of our 
honour does not permit us to accept a liberation which might stain it.” 

The governor hardly knew whether he was on his head or his heels, he had never 
before had to deal with such obstinate prisoners. He racked his brains in vain to 
discover why it was that men condemned to death could so peremptorily decline 
their liberty. Still, he must induce them to quit tlie prison, for time was fast slip- 
ping away, and their obstinacy might ruin everything. Hence, General Ventura 
made up his mind like a man. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, with feigned admiration, “ I understand what nobleness 
there is in your scruples, and am happy to see that I was net mistaken in the great- 
ness of youjf character; you can leave this prison in lull security, and take once 
more the station that belongs to you in the world. I will lay no conditions on you ; 
you are free, purely and simply.” 

While saying this, the governor drew from his breast an enormous bundle of 
papers, which he offered Don Miguel. The latter declined them with an air of dis- 
gust; but, General Ibanez, less scrupulous or wiser in his generation, eagerly 
clutched them, looked through them, to see that the governor was not deceiving 
him, and then threw them into the brasero, standing in the middle of the room. 
General Ibanez watched them burning wdth a certain degree of pleasure, for he be- 
gan to feel himself really free. 

“ I am waiting for you, gentlemen,” said the governor. 

“ One word more, by your leave,” the haciendero remarked. 

“Speak, sir.” 

“ On leaving this prison, where are we to go f ” 

“ Wherever you please, gentlemen. I repeat to yon ';hat you are peifectly free, 
and can act as you think proper.” 

“ Good, sir,” Don Miguel said, holding out his hand to Geiicxa.^ Yentuia. “ your 
conduct affects me — thanks.” 

The governor blushed. 

“ Come, come,” he said, to blue his embarrassment on reoeiring this so ill- 
deserved praise. 


The Meeting. 


I2I 


The prisoners no longer hesitated to follow him. 

In the meanwhile, the news of Don Misuel’s deliverance had spread through the 
town with the rapidity of a train of gunpowder. The inhabitants, reassured by the 
continence of the Comanches, and knowing that they had only come to save a man, 
in whese fate the entire population felt interested, 1 ad ventured to leave their houses, 
and at length thronged the streets and squaies; the windows and roofs were filled 
with men, women, and children, whose ejes, fixed on the prison, awaited the 
moment of Don Miguel’s appearance. When he did so, tremendous shouts greeted 
him. Unicorn walked up to the governor. 

“ My father has kept his promise,” he said, gravely, “ I will keep mine ; the 
white prisoners are free.” 

The governor listened to these words with a blush; the sachem returned to the 
head of his war-party, which rapidiy retired, followed by me snouts ot a mob in- 
toxicated with joy. 

*‘ What do vou think of all that?” the haciendero asked his friend. 

** Hum ! ” General Ibanez muttered, ” ti e governor’s conduct seems to rather 
queer: but, no matter, we are free. I confess to you, my friend, mat 1 SiUJul 1 have 
no objection to go a little distance from this place, the air of wnich, despite General 
Ventura’s protestations, appears to me remarkably unhealthy for us.’* 

At this moment, and ere Don Miguel could answer, the general felt a slight touch 
on his shoulders; he turned, and saw Curumilla before him, with a smiling face. 

” Come ! ” he said to them, laconically. 

They followed him, with some difficulty, through (he crowd that accompanied 
them with shouts, and whom they were obliged to stop and thank. On reaching 
a small street near the square, and which was nearly deserted, Curumilla led them 
to a house before which he stopped. 

” It is here,’’ he said, as he tapped twice. 

The door opened, and they entered a courtvard, in which were three ready-saddled 
horses, held by a groom, which they at mice mounted. 

The three men started at full speed. Ten minutes later they were out of the town, 
and galloping across the plain. 

“ Oh ! ” General Ibanez said, gaily, how pleasant the fresh air is ! How good 
it is to inhale it after remaining for two monms stifled between ttis walls of a 
prison ! ” 

“ Shall we soon arrive ? *’ Don Miguel asked. 

“ In an hour,” the chief answered. 

And they went on with renewed speed. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE MEETIHO. 

Os reaching the spot where the trail they were following formed a species of fork, 
Curumilla stopped. 

“ Tliat is your road,” the Araucano chief said. « At the end of that path you will 
see K-outonepi’s bivouac fire. 1 must leave you here.” 

A'ter uttering these words, Curumilla turned his horse and started, after giving 
them a parting wave of the hand. The Unicorn was not much of a talker naturally ; 
rrenerally, he dici more than he said. His friends, convinced that urgent necessity 
coi Id alone have forced him thus to break through his habits, made no observation 
out let him go. 


122 


The Trail-Hunter. 


The two gentlemen went on thus for nearly h.ilf an hour without exchanging a 
syllable ; but, just as they tutncd a corner in the path, they saw a horseman about 
thirty paces in front of them, barring the road, and app uenily waiting for them. 
The Mexicans examined him attent.vely. He was a tall man, w'ell armed, and 
wearing the garb of the rich hacienderos; but, singularly enough, a black velvet 
mask, prevented them distinguis ling his features. By an instinctive movement, 
Don Miguel and his friend moved a hand to their holsters, but they were empty. 

“ What is to be done ? ” the haciendero asked. 

“Goon, of course. Wc have just escaped too great a peril for us to fear this. 
Even in the event of the mysteiious being planted there before us, like an equestrian 
statue, trying to play us a trick, which is not impossible.’’ 

“ Let us trust to Heaven,” Don Miguel muttered. 

The distance separating them from the stranger was soon cleared. On coming 
within five yards of him, they stopped. 

“ Santas tardes, Caballeros,” said the stranger, in a friendly voice. 

“ Santas tardes ! ’’ the gentlemen answered, in accord, 

“I salute you, Don Miguel Zarate, and you, General Ibanez,” the stranger then 
said. “ 1 am happy to see you at length safe and sound out of the claws of that 
worthy General Ventura.” 

” Caballero,” Don Miguel made answer, “ I thank you for the kind words you 
address to me, and which can only come from a friend’s lips. I should be pleased 
if you would take off the mask.” 

” Gentlemen, if I removed my mask it would he useless, for my features are un- 
familiar to you. Do not he angry with me for keeping it on ; but, he assured tnat 
you are not mistaken, I am really your friend.” 

The two Mfxicans bowed courteously to each other, and the stranger went on. 

“ I knew that so soon as you were free you would hasten to join that worthy- 
hunter Valentine. I placed myself here, where you must pass, in order to make you 
a communication of the utmost impoitance, which interests you extremely.” 

“ i am listening, sir,” D m Miguel responded with secret alarm ; “ and 1 beg you 
to accept, beforehand, my sincere thanks for the step you have taken.” 

“ You will taank me when the tune cou-ies. To-day 1 only warn you : at a later 
da*e I hope to aid you.” 

•• Speak, sir! You excite my curiosity to the highest pitch, aud ! am anxious to 
learn the news of which you have condescended to be the bearer.” 

'I'he stranger shook his head sadly, and there was a moment’s silence. At length 
the mask spoke again. 

“Two months have elapsed, Don Miguel, since, through the treachery of Red 
Cedar, you were arrested and made prisoner at the Paso del Norte. Many events of 
which you are ignorant have occuired since then; but there is one I must inform 
you of at one’e. On the very night of your arrest, your daughter was canied off by 
Red Cedar.” 

“ My daughter! ” the haciendero exclaimed; “and Valentine to whom I confided 
her, and who was responsible for her safety ? ” 

“Valentine attempted impossibilities to save her; but what can one man effect 
against twenty.” 

“ After researches, long, sterile, and extraordinary efforts, a man, providentially 
aided by Father Seraphin, at length succeeded last night in taking Dona Clara 
from her ravishers; but Red Cedar, advised by some extraord.nary chance, entered 
the house where the maiden had sought shelter, aud cairied her off again.” 

“ Oh ! I will avenge myself on that man ! ” the haciendero shouted, passionately. 

The stra-ngei’s eyes flashed with a lurid light. 

“ You will find your son and Father Seraphin with Valentine. Red Cedar intends 








Tile Meeting, 


123 


to start this evening, at the head of a hand of gambusinos, to go into the deserts of 
the Rio Gila, in search of a placer, which his accomplice, Fray Ambiosio, has indi- 
cated to him.” 

‘‘ Fray Ambrosio ! ” the haciendero repeated. 

“Yes. Your former chaplain, w o served as spy to the squatter, revealed your 
plans to him, and provided him the means t> carry off your daughter.*’ 

“ Good,” Don Miguel said in a hollow voice. “ I will remember.” 

“ Red Cedar, I know not with what design, is taking your daughter with him into 
the desert.” , 

“ I will follow him, were it for a thousand leagues,” Don Miguel said resolutely, 'y 
“ Tnanks to yo i for having instructed me so fully. But whence comes the interest 
you take in me ? ” 

“ You shall learn at a later date, Don Miguel. Now, before I leave you, one last 
word — an earnest warning.” 

“ I listen a tentively, Caballero.” 

“ Do not fell any one — not even the French hunter, of our meeting. Let this 
secret be buried in your breast. When you rench the far west, if you sec before you, 
at one of your bivouacs, a piece of mahogany bearing the impress of a horse’s shoe, 
rise at midnight, and leave the camp. When you have gone one hundred paces in 
the tall grass, whistle thrice; a similar whistle will answer you, and then you will 
learn many things important for you to know.” 

“ Good. Thanks. I will do what you tell me.” 

“You promise it } ” 

“ I swear it on my word as a gentleman,’’ Don Miguel said, as he took off his 
hat. 

“ I accept your oath. Farewell.” 

“ Farewell.” 

The stranger dug his spurs into his horse’s sides, and the animal started off as if 
impelled by a tornado. 

“ Who can that man be? ’’ said Don Miguel. 

“ I know no more than you do. Fiva Cristo / ” his friend answered, “ hut I as- 
sure you I will know, even if to do so I have to search all the thickets and caverns in 
thcdeseit.” 

“ What ! ” Don Miguel exclaimed, “ do you intend to come with me f ” 

“ Did you ever doubt it, Don Miguel? if so, you insulted me; besides, I shall 
not be sorry,” he added with a smile, “ to get out of the sight of the government for 
a time.” 

“ My friend, I thank you,” the haciendero said, as he took his hand. “I have 
long known that you were entirely devoted to me ; 1 am pleased to receive this new 
proof of your friendship.” 

“ And you accept it ? ” the general asked gaily. 

“ Most heartily ; the help of an iron arm like yours must be most useful to me 
under the painful circumstances in which I am placed.” 

“ That is settled then ; we will start together. Mil rayas, and i swvar wc will 
deliver Dona Clara.” 

“ May Heaven ^raut it/* the hadendero said sadly* 


CHAPrER XLI. 


DONA CLARA. 

Valentine had been warned nearly an hour previously, by Unicorn, of the 
result of the negotiations with the governor of Santa Fe, and the i.mmediate 
liberation of the prisoners ; he was, therefore expecting them. Though they 
>vere ignorant where to find him, Vaientme presumed that the chief would leave 
some Indian to direct them, and. therefore, did not feel at all surprised at seeing 
them. So soon as he noticed their approach he walked to meet them, followed 
by Don Pablo and the missionary, while the haciendero and his comrade on 
their side pricked on to join them sooner. 

A few hours 'Vere spent, after the first greetings were over, in a conference, 
of which the poor child so audaciously carried off was the sole subject. Valen- 
tine drew up with his friends the plan of the campaign against Red Cedar, 
w^hich was so daring that it would have made the most resolute European ner- 
vous ; but the free adventurers who were about to carry it out, in no way feared 
the mysterious dangers of the desert which they were going to confront. We 
say, free, because Father Seraphin had taken leave of his friends and found 
Unicorn, with whom he wished to go to the Comanche villages, in the hope of 
spreading the light of the gospel there. Toward evening Curumilla arrived. 
The Araucano was covered with dust, and his face dan)p with perspiration. 
Not uttering a word, he sat down by the fire, took his caiumet from his girdle 
and began smoking. Valentine let him do so without asking a question, but 
so soon as he saw him absorbed in his pipe, 

“ Well ? ” he said to him. 

“Curumilla has seen them.” 

“ Good ; are they numerous ? ” 

“ Ten times the number of fingers on my two hands, and one more.” 

“ Caramba I" Valentine exclaimed. 

“ They are bold hunters,” the chief added. 

“ Hum ! do you know when, they will start ? ” 

“ This evening, when the new moon rises.” 

“ Ah, ah, I read their plan,” the hunter said. “They intend crossing the ford 
of the To-ro before day.” 

Curumilla bowed his head in affirmation. 

“ That is true,” Valentine remarked ; once the ford is passed they will be in 
the desert, and have comparatively nothing to fear, or at least they suppose so. 
I must confess,” he added, addressing his friends, “ that Red Cedar is a re- 
markably clever scoundrel.” 

“ What shall we do? ” Don Miguel asked. 

“ Sleep,” Valentine answered, “ we have still several hours before us, so let 
us profit by them ; in the new life we are beginning, we must neglect nothing.” 

Curumilla had slipped away but now returned, bringing with him two rifles 
pistols, and knives. ’ 

“ My brothers had no weapons,” he said, as he laid his load before the 
Mexicans, x 

The latter thanked him heartily ; for, owing to the foresight of Curumilla 
who thought of everything, they could now enter the desert boldly. Two 
minutes later the five men were fast asleep, and we will take advantage of their 
slumber to return to Red Cedar, whom wc left on the point of climbing through 
Dona Clara’s window, 


Dona Clara, 


m 


At one bound the bandit was in the room, after breaking open the window 
with a b'iow of his fist. Dona Clara, suddenly aroused, leaned from the bed, 
uttering fearful cries at the sight of the terrible apparition before her. 

“ Silence,” Red Cedar said to her, “ one cry more, and I kill you like a 
dog.” 

1 he maiden, trembling with fright, looked pdifully at the bandit; but Red 
Cedar’s lace wore such an expression of cruelty, that she understood how little she 
had to hope from th.s man. The bandit gauged the poor chiid with the rebozo 
that lay on the bed, threw her over his shoulder, and clambered out of the 
window again. So soon as he put foot on the ground, he whistled lightly for 
his comrades to rejoin him. 

1 uring the walk, which was not a long one, the bandits did not meet a soul. 
Andres opened the door and lit a candle ; the ruffians entered, and the door 
was carefu.ly bolted again. Red Cedar carried Dona Clara, who was in a 
half-fainting state, to her room, removed the rebozo, and then returned to the 
bar. 

“There,” he said, with satisfaction, “that is all right; the she^p has returned 
to the fold. What do you say, reverend father ? ” 

“ We shall do well in not remaining here,” he answered, “ because this hiding- 
place is known, and will soon be visited.” 

The squatter shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Listen ! Fray Amorosio,” he said with a sinister grimace, which he intended 
for a smile. “ I predict that, rogue as you are, you run a great chance of 
dying in a fool’s skin, if you are not flayed beforehand, which may easily be the 
case.” 

The monk shuddered. Red Cedar’s gaiety had the peculiarity of being even 
more fearful than his anger. The squatter sat down on a bench, and turned to 
the gambusino. 

“ Diink ! ” he said roughly. 

Garote fetched a jar of mezeal, which he placed before his terrible accomplice. 
The latter, not taking the trouble to pour the liquor into a glass, raised the jar to his 
lips, and drank till breath failed him. “ Now listen to my orders, my dear children, 
and try to carry them out to the letter ; or, if not, your roguish hides will bear the 
blame. ” 

Tnc three men bowed silently. 

“ You, Nathan,” he went on, “will come with me, for you are not wanted hcr^ 
but your presence is necessary at Cierro Pr:eto.” 

“ I will follow you,” the young man replied. 

“Good! Now, you others, bear this carefully in mind: our enemies will never 
suppose that I have made such a mistake as to bring my prisoner back here ; for 
that is so absurd, that the idea will never enter their heads ; so you can be at ease, and 
no one will troub eyour peace of mind. To-morrow, so soon as the moon ribcs, you 
will make the giil put on an Indian dress, mount her, and come to me at 
CiCrro Prieto. I m mediately after your arrival wc shall start.’* 

“Good ! ’’said Fiay Ambro^io, “ we will take care.” 

“ I expect so ; for, if you do not, I wouldn’t give a cuartillo for your accursed hide, 
my reverend friend.” 

A'ter uttering these friendly words, the squatter seized the jar of mezeal, emptied 
it at a draught, and sent it flying across the lOom, where it broke to pieces. 

“ Good-bye till to-morrow,” he then said, “come on Nathan.” 

“l ill to-morrow.” they answered. 

The squatter and his son left the rancho, and walked on silently, side by sid^ 
plunged in gloomy reflections produced by the events of the night. All at once thqr 


The Trail-Hunter, 




heard the firm footfall of a man coming towards them. They cocked their rifles, ready 
for any emergency. A voice was then heard, though the person to whom it belonged 
was invisible. 

“ My brothers must not fire ; they would kill a friend.” 

“*Tis an Imlian,” said Nathan. 

“ Do you think I did not recognize him?” Red Cedar replied brutally ; then he 
added, in the same dialect, there are no friends in the shadow of the desert. My 
brother must get out of my path, or I will kill him like a coyote.” 

“ Is it thus,” the Indian continued, “ that the ‘ man-eater ’ receives the guide whom 
Stanapat setids him ? In that case, good-bye. I will retire.” 

” One moment,” the squatter said, sharply, ” I could not guess who you were. 
Advance without fear, and be welcome.” 

The Indian stepped forward. He wore the costume and characteristic paint 
of the Apache warriors ; in a word, he was so well disguised, that Valentine him- 
•self could not have recognised in him his friend. Eagle-wing. 

Red Cedar, delighted at the arrival of his guide, received him :n the most 
affable manner, 

” What is my brother’s name? ” he asked, in conclusion. 

” The Heart of Stone ! ” Eagle-wing n plied. 

” Good ! ” the squatter said, “ my brother has a grand name. He must be a 
renowned warrior in his tribe.” 

A short time after, the three men reached the camp of the gambusinos, 
established in a formidable position on the top of a rock called the Cierro Prieto 
(Black Mountain). The miner’s greeted Red Cedar’s arrival with the most 
lively joy. 


CHAPTER XLIl. 

EL VADO DEL TORO. 

Red Cedar reasmed correctly when he told Fray Ambrosio and Garote that 
Dona Clara was in safety at the rancho, and no one would dream of seeking 
her there. In truth, Valentine knew the squatter’s cunning too well to suppose 
that he would commit the imprudence of bringing his prisoner back to the very 
spot where she was discovered. 

The squatter’s two accomplices passed the day quietly in playing on credit, 
at monte , each cheating with a dexterity which did honour to their knowledge 
of that noble game. No one came to disturb them, or cast an indiscreet glance 
into this infamous den, which, in the bright sunshine, had an air of respect- 
ability pleasant to look on, and amply sufficient to dispel all suspicions. About 
nine in the evening, the moon, though new, rose magnificently on a deep blue 
sky, studded with brilliant stars. 

“ I fancy it is time to get ready, gossip,” Fray Ambrosio said, “the moon is 
peering through the trees in your neighbour’s garden.” 

" You are right, senor padre, we will be off; but let me, I implore you 
first finish this deal ; it is one of the most magnificent I ever witnessed.” 

” ril back the two of spades. Something tells me it will turn up first, 
especially if you pull up the sleeves of your jacket, which must be horribly in the 
way when dealing.” 

“ Oti dear, no, I assure you; but stay; what did I tell you? There is the seven, 
of clubs.” 

” 1'hat is really extraordinary,” Fray Ambrosio replied with feigned surpiise ; ** but 
1 fancy we had better make haste.” 


Rl Vado del Toro. 


127 


** Decidedly/’ said Andres, as he hid his greasy cards in his boots, and proceeded 
to the room in which Dona Clara was confined. She followed him out, weeping. 

“ Come, come,” the gambusino said to her, “dry your tears, senorita ; we do 
not mean you any harm ; ask that holy monk.” 

Fray Ambrosio bowed an assent, but the maiden made no response to the gambu* 
sino’s consolation ; she allowed herself to be dis’^aised unresistingly. 

“In truth, it is absurd,” the worthy Andres muttered in an aside to himself, 
while attiring his prisoner, “ to waste gold and pearls in this fashion ; would it not 
be much better to use them in buying something serviceable? What she has on her 
is worth at least three thousand piastres — what a splendid game of monte a fellow 
could have with that sum ! ” 

While making these judicious reflections, the gambusino had completed the 
maiden’s Indian toilet. He perfected the disguise by throwing a zarape over her 
shoulders; then giving a parting glance round his domicile, he put in his pocket a 
pack of cards accidently left on the table, drank a large glass of spirits, and left the 
room, followed by Dona Clara and the monk, who, in spite of the varying incidents 
of the last few days, had regained all his good humour. 

Dona Cl ara was placed on a horse; Andres and the monk also mounted, and 
made a wide circuit, to avoid passing through the Presidio, and then started at a 
gallop in the direction of the Cierro ?;etro. 

Red Cedar had lost no time, and all was ready for departure. The new-comers 
did not even dismount, but so soon as they were sighted, the caravan, composed, as 
we have stated, of some hundred and twenty resolute men, after forming in Indian 
file, started in the direction of the prairies, having first prudently detached two scouts 
to watch the neighbourhood. 

They marched for upwards of three hours, and nothing appeared to justify their 
fears; a solemn calmness continued to prevail around them. Gradually these ap- 
prehensions were dissipated; they began talking in a suppressed voice, and laughiftg 
at their past terrors, when they reached, on the banks of the Del Norte, the vado, 
or Ford del Toro. 

There are only two methods of crossing even the widest rivers — looking for a ford, 
or, if you are in a great hurry, forcing your horse into the ofttirnes rapid current, 
and trying to reach the other bank by swimming. 

The squatter had selected the first method, and in a few minutes the whole party 
was in the water. Although the ground of the ford was uneven, and at t’mes the 
horses were up to their chests, and comp dlcd to swim, the gambusinos managed to 
get across safely. The only persons left on the bank were Red Cedar, Eagle-wing, 
the guide, Dona Clara, and Andres Garote. 

“ It is our turn now, Heart of Stone,” the squatter said, addressing Eagle-wing; 
“ you see that our men are in safety, and only await us to set out again,” 

“The squaw first,” the Indian replied, laconically. 

“ That is true, chief,” the squatter said, and, taming to the prisoner, “ Go across,” 
he said to her, coarsely. 

The maiden, not deigning to answer, boldly made her horse enter the river, and 
the three men followed. The night was dark, the sky covered with clouds, and the 
moon, constantly veiled, only shone forth at lengthened intervals, which rendered 
the passage difficult and even dangerous, as it did not allow objects to be distin- 
guislied, even at a short distance. Still, after a few seconds, Hed Cedar fancied he 
saw tliat Dona Clara’s horse was not following the line traced by the ford, but was 
turning to the lelt, as if carried away by the current. He pushed his horse forward, 
to assure himself of the reality of the fact ; but suddenly a vigorous hand seized 
his right leg, and before he could even think of resisting, he was hurled badk into 
the water, and his throat .seized by an Indian, 


128 


The Trail- Hunter 


During this time, Dona Clara’s horse, probably obeying a hidden impulse, was 
proce. di.ig s.iil further Irom the spot where the gambusinos had landed. Some of 
them, at the head of whom were D.ck, Harry, and the squatter’s three soirs, j erce.ving 
what was going on, returned to the water, to proceed to tneir ctrief’s help, while the 
others, guided by Fray Ambrosio, galloped down the river-bank, in order to cut off 
retreat, when Dona Clara’s Irorse landed. 

Andres Garote, after .several fruitless efforts, succeeded in catching Red Cedar’s 
horse, which he brought to him at the moment when the latter had scalped his 
enemy and raised his scalp. 

The Coras sachem had urged his steed in pursuit of Dona Clara’s, and both were 
following almost the same line down the stream, the former striving to catch up 
to the latter, who, for her part, was doing her utmost to widen the distance between 
them. Suddenly the Coras’ horse gave a leap, while uttering a snort of pain, and 
began madly beating the water with its foi clegs, while the river was tinged with 
blood around it. The chief, perceiving that his horse was mortally wounded, 
leaped from his saddle, and leant over the side, ready to leap off. At this moment a 
hideous face appealed flush with the water, and a hand was stretched out to grasp 
him. With that impertuibable coolness that never deserts the Indians, even under 
the most critical circumstances, the Coras seized his tomahawk, split liis enemy’s skull 
open, and glided into the river. 

A formidable war-yell was, at this moment, heard from the forest, and some fifty 
shots were fired from both banks at once, il umining the scene with their fugitive 
flashes. A mu’titu 'e of red-skins rushed on the gambusinos, and a terrible fight 
commenced, 'i'he Mexicans, taken unawares, defended themselves at first pooriy, 
giving ground and seeking shelter behind trees ; but obeying the thundering voice 
of the squatcr, who performed prodigies of valour while exciting his comrades to sell 
their lives dearly, they regained courage, formed in close column, and charged the 
Indians furiously, beating them down with the butts of their muskets, or s.ashing 
them with their maci etes. 

'I'he combat was shoit; the red-skins, whowereonly aparty of maurauding Pawnees, 
seeing the ill-result of their surprise, grew discouraged, and disappeared as rapidly as 
they had come. Two minutes later calmness and silence were so perfectly re-estab- 
lished, that had it net been for a few' wounded gambusinos, and several Indians 
stretched dead on the battlefield, the stiangc scene would have appeared as a dream. 

So soon as the Indians weie routed. Red Cedar bent an eager glance up the river; 
on that side the struggle was also over, and Eagh-wing, mounted behind the young 
lady, was guiding her horse to the bank, which it soon reached. 

“ Well ? ” the squatter asked. 

The Pawnees are cowardly coyotes,” the Coras answered. They fly like old 
women, so soon as they see the war plume of a warrior of my nation.” 

“ Good ! ” the squatter said, gleefully, ” my brother is a great warrior ; he has 
a friend.” 

The Coras bowed with a smile of indescribable meaning. His object was gained ; 
he had acquired the confidence of the man he meant to destroy. Dona Clara, Ellen, 
and the squatter’s wife were placed in the centre of the caravan, and the band 
started again. 

An hour later, a second pirty of horsemen also crossed the Vado del Toro. It 
was much less numerous than the first, as it consisted of only five men, but they 
were Valentine, Curumilla, Don Miguel, his son, and General Ibanez. 

[Those of our reaiicrs who take an interest in the Trail-Hunter, we must ask to 
follow his adventures ihrougn another volume, called— Thb Pirates of thb 
Prairies.] 


THE END. 


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HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATIONS.— Tid-Bits’ car- 
toons are the work of the cleverest caricaturists. They are 
graphic and pointed. 

PRIZES. — A prize of $io is offered weekly for the best 
short story — not necessarily original — submitted to the editor, 
and prizes for answers to questions of various sorts are also 
offered from time to time. 

If there is anything new worth knowing you will find it in 
Tid-Bits. 

If there is anything new worth laughing at you will find 
it in Tid-Bits. 

So much intelligence, liveliness, and humor cannot be 
had for 5 cents in any other form. 

A sample copy will be sent free of postage to anyone 
addressing the publishers. Subscription, $2.50 a year. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 14 Vesey Street, New York. 


THE CELEBRATED 



Grand, Square and Upright 



PIANOFORTES 


ARE PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

The demands now made by an educated musical public are so exacting that very few 
Pianoforte Manufacturers can produce Instruments that will stand the test which merit 
requires. SOHMER & CO., as Manufacturers, rank amongst these chosen few, who are 
acknowledged to be makers of standard instruments. In these days, when Manufacturers 
urge the low price of their wares rather than their superior quality as an inducement to 
purchase, it may not be amiss to suggest that, in a Piano, quality and price arc too in- 
separably joined to expect the one without the other. 

Every Piano ought to be judged as to the quality of its tone, its touch, and its work- 
manship ; if any one of these is wanting in excellence, however good the others may be, 
the instrument will be imperfect. It is the combination of these qualities in the highest 
degree that constitutes the perfect Piano, and it is this combination that has given the 
“SOIOIER” its honorable position with the trade and the public. 

Received First Prize Centennial Exhibition, Philadelphia, 1876. 
Received First Prize at Exhibition, Montreal, Canada, 1881 and 1882. 


SOHMER &L OO., Manufacturers, 

149-155 East 14th St., New York. 








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